SPORT 


I 


KT1NDAL 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


3 


THOMAS  MARTINUALE 


Sport  Indeed 


By 

THOMAS    MARTINDALE 


4  . 


With  illustrations 
from  photographs 
by  the  a.\ithor 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS    &   CO. 

103-105   South    Fifteenth   Street 


Copyright,  1901 
BY  GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  Co 


•.  i 

I 


SK33 


DEDICATORY 


C        IN  this  devil-may-care  age  the  dedication  of  a  book 
>.     can  hold  but  little  interest  for  the  reader.     The  cus- 

ee 

£5     torn  has  grown  somewhat  stale,  and   stale   customs, 

OQ 

—  like  stale  things  generally,  are  unpalatable.  Never- 
theless, it  is  a  gratification  to  me  to  dedicate  this  one 
^  to  my  son  James,  who,  in  his  love  for  the  huntsman's 
8  sport,  is  a  nimble  follower  in  the  footsteps  of  his  sire 
§  and  a  promising  chip  of  the  old  block. 

T.  M. 


462380 


APOLOGETIC 


IF  it  be  true  that  "  good  wine  needs  no  bush,"  it 
ought  to  be  true  that  a  good  book  needs  no  apology. 
"  But,"  my  reader  may  ask,  "is  your  book  a  good  one, 
or  does  its  goodness  rest  only  on  the  modest  opinion 
of  its  author  ?  "  Dear  reader,  I  may  safely  say,  with- 
out stretching  the  bounds  of  modesty,  that  any  book 
whose  aim  is  to  lengthen  and  make  better  the  life  of 
the  American  business  man  and  to  show  him  the  most 
enjoyable  way  to  do  it  must  be  a  good  book.  "  But 
why  the  American  business  man  rather  than  another  ?  " 
Because  he  is  the  man  whose  manner  of  life  affords  the 
broadest  room  for  improvement.  He  is  the  man  who 
in  his  fierce  chase  after  the  almighty  dollar  forgets 
that  there  are  such  things  as  health  and  happiness  and 
personal  comfort,  or  if  he  remembers  them  it  is  only  to 
see  that  they  step  aside  and  stand  not  in  the  way  of  his 
chase.  To  stop  for  rest  or  for  recreation  would  be  ex- 
travagance, especially  as  he  knows  no  need  of  either. 
A  knowledge  of  the  need,  however,  is  sure  to  come, 
and  when  it  does  he  may  thank  his  stars  if  it  has'nt 
come  too  late.  You  cannot  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks 
nor  can  you  disentangle  the  habits  of  a  lifetime  from 


6  APOLOGETIC 

their  worry  and  care  and  weave  the  worn  threads  into 
youthful  toggery. 

Too  late  !     Too  late  ! 

I  am  aware  of  the  dangers  that  lie  in  wait  for  the 
book-writer.  "  Oh,  that  mine  adversary  had  written 
a  book  !  "  was  the  burden  of  Job's  prayer,  3,500  years 
ago,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  roll  of  passing  cen- 
turies has  flattened  the  peril.  However,  flattering 
myself  that  I  am  no  man's  adversary,  I  will  take 
the  risk  and  launch  my  volume,  hoping  for  it  fair 
weather,  favoring  gales,  and  a  broad  harbor  from 
which  to  spread  its  wholesome  freight  wherever  it  may 

do  the  most  good. 

T.  M. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

DEDICATORY 3 

APOLOGETIC 5 

MOOSEHEAD  LAKE 11 

CUPID  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 19 

CALLING  THE  MOOSE 25 

AN  UNEXPECTED  TREAT 33 

KILLING  THE  CARIBOU 36 

MORE  OF  THE  MOOSE 45 

A  LOST  MAN  AND  A  WOUNDED  MOOSE 52 

A  CAPRICIOUS  BEAST 64 

MY  FIRST  BULL-MOOSE 74 

A  CARIBOU  HUNT 85 

A  LOST  MOOSE 96 

THE  BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE 101 

THE  LOST  WALLET 125 

A  CLOSE  CALL 132 

THE  FUN  OF  HUNTING 149 

A  FlRE-AND- WATER  MEDLEY 156 

A  DAY  IN  THE  BIG  WOODS 161 

A  DEAD-WATER  VIGIL 174 

DOG-DAY  ADVICE 186 

A  TALE  OF  GALLANTRY  AND  HUNGER 190 

A  BEARDLESS  SPORT 204 

A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD 211 

THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST 227 

7 


8  Contents 

PAGE 

NORTH  DAKOTA 273 

THE  WRECKER 278 

BRANT  SHOOTING 284 

THE  QUAINT  CAPE-CODDERS 290 

A  WARY  BIRD 295 

QUAIL  SHOOTING  IN  NORTH  CAROLINA 301 

"  TROUT  TICKLING  "  AND  AN  OLD-ENGLAND  BLIZZARD  .   .   .   .  310 

A  DANGEROUS  RIDE 318 

A  FIGHT  TO  THE  DEATH 326 

A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  "WHITE" 332 

THE  LAST  SHOT .  344 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THOMAS  MARTINDALE Frontispiece. 

PREPARING  FOR  THE  START Page  13 

A  LOG  LANDING  ON  THE  BROOK "  37 

His  LORDSHIP  ;  AS  GRAND  A  SPECIMEN  AS  THE  SUN  EVER 

SHONE  UPON "  41 

THE  DRY  BOG — A  FAVORITE  HAUNT  OF  THE  CARIBOU  .  .  "  53 

A  CAMP  IN  THE  WILDERNESS "  61 

THE  CAMP  IN  ITS  WINTER  BEAUTY "  69 

MY  FIRST  MOOSE "  81 

A  BIT  OF  MAINE  FOREST  —  PENOBSCOT  RIVER  IN  THE 

DISTANCE "  89 

THE  CULINARY  DEPARTMENT  OF  A  HUNTER'S  CAMP  ...  "  107 

A  NEW  BRUNSWICK  TOTE-ROAD "  119 

THE  FROZEN  PENOBSCOT "  129 

A  SCENE  ON  THE  PENOBSCOT "  135 

A  TOTE-ROAD  IN  WINTER "  141 

A  BEAVER  HOUSE "  163 

A  HUNTER'S  FOREST  HOME "  169 

A  DEAD-WATER "  179 

LABORIOUS  WORK "  193 

THE  LITTLE  TOBIQUE "  201 

A  YOUTHFUL  HUNTER "  207 

PRECIOUS  TROPHIES,  INCLUDING  THE  LITTLE  SPIKE  HORN  "  219 

THE  ANGLER'S  PARADISE "  259 

A  FINE  TROPHY "  313 

AN  EXCITING  CHASE "  335 

9 


Moosehead  Lake 

This  way  lies  the  game. 

—KING  HENKY  VI. 

» 

left  home  on  a  Saturday  night  in  September, 
by  the  6:50  express,  with  the  wilderness  of  Maine  for 
our  destination.  The  night  was  hot,  close  and  miser- 
ably uncomfortable.  The  sleeping-car  felt  like  an 
oven  and  before  we  reached  New  York  we  turned  into 
our  berths,  as  that  seemed  the  coolest  thing  to  do. 
Sunday  in  Boston  was  rainy  and  cold,  and  when  we  ar- 
rived at  Bangor  we  had  to  put  on  heavy  flannels  and 
get  out  overcoats. 

It  was  election  day  in  Maine  ;  yet,  although  it  was 
expected  that  the  Republican  ticket  would  be  elected 
by  30,000  majority,  we  saw  no  excitement  along  the 
railroad  in  our  ride  from  Bangor  to  Greenville,  at  the 
head  of  Moosehead  lake.  No  bands,  no  men  with 
badges  on,  pottering  around  polling  places.  An  occa- 
sional flag  floated  on  the  frosty  air,  but  that  was  all. 
Yet  there  was  a  silent,  unseen  something  foretelling  that 
an  enormous  Republican  vote  would  be  polled — and  it 
was.  During  our  ride  in  the  car  a  prophetic  native 
sitting  behind  us  broke  loose  in  this  fashion  :  "  If  it 

weren't  for  one  thing,  darned  if  I  wouldn't  bet  a  dol- 

ll 


12  SPORT   INDEED 

lar  to  a  penny  doughnut  that  the  State  would  go 
u-nan-i-mus  for  Powers." 

"  What  thing  ?  "  asked  his  companion. 

"  Why,  some  smart  cuss  might  hear  of  my  bet  and 
vote  for  t'other  fellow  so  as  to  make  me  lose  it." 

There  are  a  number  of  little  steamboats  on  Moose- 
head  Lake,  which  ply  backwards  and  forwards,  carry- 
ing freight  and  passengers.  Upon  a  time-card,  a  sort 
of  free-and-easy -go-as-you-please  schedule,  we  were  told 
our  boat  would  leave  promptly  at  six  in  the  morning. 
So  on  Tuesday  we  were  up  before  five  o'clock  in  order 
to  see  that  our  stores,  baggage  and  hunting  outfit  were 
aboard  on  time.  Then  we  had  breakfast  in  a  hurry, 
first  asking  the  landlord  to  tell  the  captain  of  the  boat 
that  we  would  be  aboard  at  six  and  not  to  start  with- 
out us.  At  six  we  were  pacing  the  deck  of  the  steamer, 
listening  to  the  captain  and  pilot  piling  their  "  cuss- 
words  "  on  the  head  of  the  engineer  for  not  making 
his  appearance.  As  the  boat  couldn't  well  go  without 
an  engineer,  we  waited.  Half-past  six  came  and  still 
we  waited.  The  whistle  was  blown  repeatedly,  but  it 
brought  no  sign  of  the  man  who  handled  the  stop- 
cocks. At  eighteen  minutes  to  seven  we  saw  the  stop- 
cock knight  coming  down  a  hillside  as  leisurely  as  if  he 
were  an  hour  ahead  of  time.  He  came  aboard  and  we 
made  a  start,  crossing  to  another  landing  where  we 
took  in  tow  a  scow  with  four  horses,  a  party  of  ladies 
and  some  lumbermen.  At  a  quarter  to  eight  we  were 


PH 


MOOSEHEAD  LAKE  15 

off  for  the  Northeast  Carry,  where  we  arrived  about 
an  hour  and  a  half  late,  which  hour  and  a  half  caused 
us  afterwards  an  exciting  time. 

Northeast  Carry  is  so  called  because  it  is  a  road  or 
"  carry  "  at  the  northeast  end  of  the  lake.  The  carry 
is  two  miles  long,  and  the  other  end  of  it  lands  you  on 
the  banks  of  the  Penobscot  River.  While  we  were 
loading  our  canoes  a  party  from  down  the  river 
reached  our  landing.  In  the  centre  of  one  of  their 
canoes  a  lady  was  seated  on  a  throne-like  chair  which 
was  covered  with  costly  Persian  rugs.  Luxurious  air- 
cushions  supported  the  lady's  back  and  formed  a  rest 
for  her  feet.  An  oriental  robe,  tinted  with  all  the 
hues  of  the  rainbow,  was  gracefully  thrown  around 
her  dainty  limbs,  mingling  its  colors  with  those  of  the 
autumn  leaves  which  were  strung  in  garlands  about 
the  bow  of  the  boat.  A  pretty  picture,  indeed,  but 
yet  imperfect.  It  needed  a  dusky  Indian  maiden,  with 
no  clothes  on  to  speak  of,  waving  a  peacock  fan.  Then 
the  picture  might  have  passed,  on  a  pinch,  for 
that  of  the  proud  Cleopatra  as  she  sailed  up  the  Cyd- 
nus  to  tickle  the  fancy  and  ravish  the  heart  of  her 
Antony. 

Precisely  at  two  o'clock  the  next  day  we  paddled 
away  from  Northeast  Carry.  We  had  a  glorious  run 
to  the  Half- way  House,  ten  miles  down.  The  river 
scene  was  bewitching  in  its  beauty.  The  first  frosts 
had  delicately  colored  the  leaves  of  the  maple  and 


16  SPORT   INDEED 

beech,  while  the  waving  masses  of  ferns  that  fringe 
the  river's  edge  had  changed  their  greens  for  various 
shades  of  yellow  and  brown,  and  spread  their  dainty 
texture  along  the  banks  as  if  anxious  to  show  what 
nature  could  do  in  the  way  of  embroidery. 

Everything  looked  radiant  and  happy — save  our 
three  guides  who  were  taciturn  and  troubled.  The 
reason  was  plain.  It  was  half-past  four  in  the  after- 
noon when  we  reached  the  Half-way  House.  We  had 
stated  that  we  desired  particularly  to  be  at  Chesun- 
cook  Lake  (twenty  miles  down  the  river)  that  night, 
and  there  would  have  been  no  trouble  in  making  the 
journey  by  daylight  if  the  steamer  Comet  had  been 
more  prompt  in  starting  from  Greenville.  Now, 
below  us,  six  miles  down,  is  a  great  stretch  of  rapids 
called  the  Rocky  Eips,  a  mile  and  a  half  long.  Below 
these  rapids  come  the  Pine  Stream  Falls,  half  a  mile 
long. 

Our  three  canoes  were  deeply  loaded.  Should  we 
risk  the  run  or  not  ?  It  was  finally  decided  to  risk  it, 
and  away  we  went ;  but  with  all  our  lively  paddling 
it  was  dark  when  we  reached  the  head  of  the  Rips, 
and  we  were  in  for  it. 

'Tis  a  beautiful  sight  in  daylight  to  see  the  canoes 
on  these  rapids  rushing  one  after  the  other  from  shore 
to  shore,  dodging  this  rock,  sliding  over  that  shelf,  or 
doubling  around  some  intruding  ledge,  all  the  while 
striving  to  keep  in  the  channel  which  in  some  places  is 


MOOSEHEAD  LAKE  17 

not  more  than  four  or  five  feet  wide.  At  night,  how- 
ever, the  sight  is  not  quite  so  captivating,  especially 
if  the  night  be  a  dark  one  and  you  happen  to  make  up 
a  part  of  the  canoe's  cargo. 

We  got  through,  however,  without  any  greater  mis- 
hap than  breaking  the  rib  of  one  canoe  and  shipping 
some  water  into  another.  A  few  minutes  after  emerg- 
ing from  the  boiling  Rips  we  heard  the  roar  of  the  falls 
about  a  mile  further  down.  The  sound  was  grand, 
and  we  thought  we  were  going  to  have  another  excit- 
ing run.  In  this  we  were  disappointed.  The  guides 
said  that,  in  order  to  lighten  the  canoes,  we  sports 
would  have  to  get  out  and  walk  through  the  woods  to 
the  bottom  of  the  falls — about  half  a  mile.  They  then 
rearranged  the  loads  and  started  down  the  falls  by 
water  while  we  went  down  by  land ;  and  it  was  darker 
in  the  woods  than  it  was  on  the  river.  We  stumbled 
and  tripped  over  roots  and  logs,  while  the  guides 
stumbled  and  tripped  over  rocks.  We  managed  to  get 
through  and  so  did  they,  after  a  fashion.  One  man 
had  to  jump  out  of  his  canoe  to  save  it  and  another 
man  brought  his  down  leaking.  Neither  man  seemed 
happy.  However,  there  is  very  little  pure  happiness  in 
this  world  and  perhaps  the  adulterated  article  tastes 
all  the  better  for  its  mixture  with  a  little  misery. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  loads  were  changed  and  we 
were  off  again  down  the  river.  After  a  run  of  about 
an  hour  we  saw  the  lights,  of  the  Chesuncook  House 


18  SPORT   INDEED 

looming  up  bright  and  cheery  in  the  distance,  and  in 
a  little  while  we  stood  within  its  hospitable  doors. 
We  found  it  full  of  sports  and  their  guides,  and 
among  the  former  was  a  goodly  proportion  of  "  lady 
sports."  No  less  than  four  of  the  short  skirt  variety  ; 
and  these,  with  their  little  rifles,  their  little  boots, 
their  little  Jerseys,  their  little  fishing  rods  and  their 
little  "  fellers,"  made  the  scene  an  interesting  and  we 
might  say — although  hanging  should  be  the  penalty 
for  such  a  pun — an  amooseing  one. 


Cupid  in  the  Wilderness 

This  love  will  undo  us  all.     O,  Cupid!  Cupid!  Cupid! 

— TEOILUS  AND  CEESSIDA. 

HUMAN  nature  is  the  same  the  world  over,  and 
Cupid,  sly  dog  that  he  is,  appears  to  know  that  the 
wild  woods  and  lakes  and  rivers  of  Maine  are  no  ex- 
ception to  the  rule.  Ah,  me  !  if  these  same  woods  and 
lakes  and  rivers  had  tongues  and  knew  how  to  use 
them,  what  queer  tales  they  could  tell  and  what  in- 
cidents might  come  to  light  that  now  slide  into  the 
past  unstoried  and  unrecorded ! 

Here,  in  this  very  wilderness,  hunting,  fishing  and 
pleasure  parties  yearly  congregate,  and  among  the 
latter  is  plenty  of  fit  food  for  Cupid's  powder — young 
and  beautiful  girls  with  enough  will,  skill  and  ingenu- 
ity to  paddle  their  own  canoe  and  make  love  at  the 
same  time,  if  their  chaperons  be  sleepy  enough  to 
permit  the  performance  of  such  a  double-barreled  pro- 
gramme. 

These  fishing  and  pleasure  parties  remain  no  longer 
than  the  middle  or  latter  part  of  September;  but 
while  they're  here,  the  little,  winged  god  is  up  to  his 
chin  in  business,  and  to  be  hit  with  one  of  his  arrows 
is  as  common  as  trouble.  Ah, 

"  Cupid  is  a  knavish  lad 
Thus  to  make  poor  females  mad." 
19 


20  SPORT   INDEED 

But,  with  all  due  respect  to  William  Shakespeare,  I 
would  remind  him  that  it  is  not  from  out  the  female 
sex  alone  that  Cupid  chooses  his  candidates  for  the 
madhouse.  The  "knavish  lad"  is  no  respecter  of 
persons  or  sex,  as  the  immortal  William  would  dis- 
cover if  his  canonized  bones  could  burst  their  cere- 
ments, quit  their  narrow  bed  and  visit  this  summer 
habitat  of  the  curly-headed  god. 

Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  William's  bones  need  not 
go  to  that  trouble.  The  sad,  lamenting  tone  of  his 
words : 

"  O,  love's  bow  shoots  buck  and  doe," 

proves  that  he  knew  the  ambi-sexibility  of  Cupid's 
tricks  quite  as  well  as  he  seems  to  have  known  every- 
thing else. 

Funny  indeed  are  some  of  the  doings  of  engaged 
couples.  Here  is  an  instance,  and  I  hope  the  inter- 
esting couple  with  "  hearts  that  beat  as  one "  will 
pardon  me  for  giving  it  away  to  the  cold  and  un- 
appreciating  world.  They  made  the  sad  discovery 
that  their  canoe  was  too  small  to  hold  an  embryo 
bride  and  her  best  young  man  at  the  same  time  ;  but 
love,  that  "  laughs  at  locksmiths,"  surely  would  not 
cry  at  a  less  serious  emergency.  Its  resources  are 
much  too  ready  for  that.  They  placed  two  canoes 
side  by  side,  bound  them  together  with  a  pair  of  en- 
circling arms  and,  with  a  guide  to  paddle  in  the  stern 
of  each  love-laden  vessel,  went  on  their  way  rejoicing. 


CUPID  IN  THE  WILDERNESS        21 

Now  these  guides,  while  they  know  how  to  paddle, 
know  quite  as  well  how  to  tattle,  and  tattle,  in  truth, 
they  do 

Of  the  doings  and  the  wooings, 

Of  the  billings  and  the  cooings, 
Of  the  kissings  and  the  huggings  of  the  pair  ; 

Of  the  lovings,  of  the  scoldings, 

Of  the  rapturous  enfoldings  — 
Oh,  Paradise  with  lots  of  fun  to  spare  ! 

Of  course,  the  guides  are  only  mortals,  and,  as  all 
this  takes  place  within  their  easy  eye-and-ear-shot, 
they  would  be  more  than  mortals — or  less — if  they 
didn't  tattle.  Bless  your  heart,  the  amount  of  it  they 
have  retailed  to  me  might  fill  a  book  the  size  of  "Web- 
ster's Unabridged.  You  shall  have  the  benefit  of  it 
some  day,  as  I  intend  to  pick  out  a  few  of  the  best, 
the  very  best,  of  their  stories  and  print  them.  Then, 
look  out  for  something  rich  and  racy ;  but  not  now. 
We  will  first  allow  these  turtle  doves  time  to  mate  and 
settle  in  their  nest. 

A  new  crowd  of  visitors  had  appeared  in  the  Maine 
woods  and  waters — visitors  who  were  bent  on  killing 
the  succulent  deer,  the  solitude-loving  caribou  and 
the  lordly  moose — the  noblest  Eoman  of  them  all. 

These  visitors,  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  were 
obliged  to  have  guides  whose  particular  policy  it  is  to 
speed  the  parting  "sport"  and  welcome  the  coming 
one.  In  the  various  places  where  these  guides  meet 
— Greenville,  Kineo,  Northeast  Carry,  Chesuncook 


22  SPORT    INDEED 

House,  Mud  Carry,  Eagle  Lake  or  Churchill  Lake  and 
hundreds  of  other  places — there  is  always  a  comparing 
of  notes  of  the  many  things  said  and  the  many  things 
done  by  the  departed  guests.  As  I  have  already 
hinted,  I  may  at  some  future  time  give  you  the  pith 
of  a  fe\v  of  these  notes. 

It  was  surprising  how  many  men  were  already  in 
the  woods  for  the  fall  hunting,  which  starts  October 
first,  and  how  many  more  we  heard  of  that  were  com- 
ing. Every  hotel  register  was  well  sprinkled  with 
names  of  residents  of  the  Quaker  City,  more,  I  think, 
than  from  any  other  place.  Here  is  how  I  came  in 
contact  with  one  of  them.  One  of  my  guides  hurt 
his  knee,  and  so  much  that  his  limb  swelled  to  double 
its  natural  size.  I  was  considering  how  I  could  send 
him  home,  and  as  this  would  require  a  canoe  journey 
of  five  days,  with  five  more  for  the  return  of  the  guide 
who  took  him  out,  the  matter  to  me  was  a  serious  one. 
He  relieved  my  mind,  however,  by  telling  me  he  had 
heard  of  a  doctor  who  was  camping  at  the  head  of  a 
bog  a  few  miles  away.  I  put  my  man  at  once  into  a 
canoe  and  paddled  up  to  the  tent  of  the  ./Esculapian 
disciple  whom  I  found  to  be  an  eminent  one  and  a 
Philadelphian.  After  looking  at  the  man's  damaged 
limb  he  said :  "  Well,  I  am  an  expert,  or  considered 
so,  on  insanity,  and  perhaps  on  one  or  two  other  of 
nature's  calamities,  but  I  am  not  an  expert  on  swelled 
legs.  However,  this  is  what  I  advise  you  to  do," 


CUPID  IN  THE  WILDERNESS        23 

And  he  told  him.  The  doctor's  advice  seems  to  have 
been — what  a  doctor's  advice  sometimes  is  not — the 
proper  thing,  for  the  leg  got  well.  But  before  the 
man  could  call  again  to  thank  him  for  his  mended 
leg,  the  learned  leech  had  vanished  in  the  depths  of 
the  wilderness  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 

The  natives  hereabout  are,  in  money  matters,  what 
the  Scotch  call  canny.  And  some  of  them  are  canny 
enough  to  give  any  Scotchman  points  and  beat  him 
with  ease.  Listen  to  this.  A  storekeeper,  "a  native 
here  and  to  the  manner  born,"  had  a  mother.  I  don't 
wish  you  to  infer,  however,  that  he  differed  in  this 
particular  from  any  other  storekeeper.  He  was  a 
dutiful  son  and  doted  on  his  mother,  showing  her 
every  mark  of  filial  affection.  This  was,  of  course, 
very  commendable  in  him ;  but  she  deserved  it  all, 
for  report  says  she  was  a  "grand  woman."  In  the 
course  of  human  events  the  old  lady  became  "  wor- 
rited." Life's  cares  and  troubles  came  so  thick  and 
fast  that  they  began  to  choke  up  the  oil  in  her  lamp 
of  life.  It  commenced  to  flicker  and  grow  dim  and 
needed  only  a  puff  of  apoplexy  to  put  it  out  entirely. 
When  the  end  came  the  son's  grief  was  touching,  and 
the  more  so  as  there  was  no  place  where  he  could  obtain 
a  coffin  nearer  than  a  town  three  days'  journey  away. 
The  problem  how  to  get  there  and  back  in  time  to 
bury  the  old  lady  decently  troubled  his  mind,  for  the 
indecency  of  burying  her  in  one  of  their  common  pine 


24  SPORT    INDEED 

receptacles  was  more  shocking  to  his  delicate  sense  of 
propriety  than  planting  her  in  a  dry-goods  box.  At 
this  juncture  a  man  who  had  long  known  and  revered 
the  departed  woman  volunteered  his  services  to  fetch 
a  coffin.  With  sturdy  strokes  of  his  paddle  in  the 
dead  waters  of  the  river  and  the  deft  use  of  the  pole 
in  pushing  up  over  the  quick  ones,  he  hurried  on. 
After  reaching  a  carry,  he  ran  the  two  miles  across  it 
in  order  to  catch  the  first  boat  to  the  town  where 
coffins  were  for  sale.  Making  his  purchase  he  shoul- 
dered it  and  hustled  his  way  back ;  then  putting  the 
coffin  in  his  canoe  he  started  down  the  river  as 
rapidly  as  elbow  grease  and  paddle  could  drive  him. 
When  he  landed,  the  son  of  the  old  lady  asked  him 
what  his  charge  would  be  for  the  trip.  The  man  re- 
plied that  he  would  make  no  charge,  that  the  deceased 
had  always  been  kind  to  him,  and  what  he  had  done 
was  little  enough  to  show  the  good-will  and  respect  he 
had  for  her.  "  I  am  glad,"  he  said,  "  to  have  had  the 
chance  to  do  what  I  have  done ;  but  I  wouldn't  mind 
having  a  plug  of  tobacco ;  mine  was  all  used  up  on 
the  trip."  The  dutiful  son  handed  him  a  plug  from 
behind  the  counter  and  in  the  most  kind-hearted  tone 
said :  "  Ten  cents,  please."  This  he  said  and  nothing 
more. 


Calling  the  Moose 

This  is  excellent  sport,  i'  faith. 

—HENRY  IV. 

IN  the  latter  days  of  September  and  the  early 
weeks  of  October  the  mammoth  deer,  known  as  the 
moose,  is  mating.  Then  it  is  that  the  woods  of 
Maine,  Nova  Scotia  and  New  Brunswick  are  traversed 
by  thousands  of  sportsmen  with  their  guides,  all  in 
search  of  one  thing — a  chance  to  kill  a  bull-moose. 
Now,  the  female  moose,  in  one  particular,  is  very  like 
some  other  females  of  the  animal  kingdom  ;  she  is  coy 
and  capricious,  leading  her  lover  "  a  merry  dance  o'er 
moss  and  fell,"  through  bog  and  swamp,  and  along 
the  margins  of  lakes,  ponds  and  lagoons,  or  "logans" 
as  they  are  called  in  this  region.  At  night  she  comes 
down  to  the  water  to  feed  on  the  roots  and  tops  of 
the  lily-pad  which  grows  so  abundantly  in  sluggish 
streams.  If  her  mate  is  her  escort  he  usually  stands 
on  the  bank,  eyeing  his  spouse  tenderly  as  she  feeds, 
and  ever  ready  to  protect  her  from  all  danger,  real  or 
fancied. 

If  the  bull-moose  has  no  cow  of  his  own,  but  is 
merely  ranging  and  scouring  the  country  to  find  a 

sweetheart  that  fits  his  fancy,  then  is  the  time  he  is 

25 


26  SPORT   INDEED 

apt  to  fall  into  a  trap  and  a  very  sure  one.  On  a  still 
night — and,  mind  you,  the  night  must  be  still — around 
every  lake,  pond  and  river  where  the  moose  frequents 
and  feeds,  the  bull  hears  the  sounds  of  s \veetest 
melody — sounds  filled  with  such  plaintive  tones  and 
such  a  come-to-my-arms  sort  of  cadence  that  he  can- 
not resist  the  appeal.  These  sounds  are  termed  the 
"  call,"  and  their  ascending  and  descending  notes  are 
produced  by  the  guides,  their  instrument  being  a 
birch-bark  horn.  If  the  call  be  well  made  it  will 
be  heard  by  the  bull  miles  away.  Pricking  up  his 
ears  he  will  start  on  the  run,  thrashing  through  the 
brake,  barking,  bellowing,  grunting  and  in  his  own 
affectionate  manner  answering  the  impassioned  notes 
of  his  counterfeit  mistress.  When  he  reaches  the  edge 
of  the  wood  he  grows  wary  and  suspicious.  He  will 
steal  up  and  down  among  the  bushes,  listening  and 
scenting  in  a  she-may -be-fooling-me  sort  of  way ;  and 
sometimes  it  takes  many  nights  to  convince  him  that 
he  is  the  very  gentleman  the  lady  moose  is  "stuck 
on,"  and  for  whom  she  is  so  lovingly  calling.  Alas, 
how  many  a  bull-moose  Lothario  falls  a  victim  to  his 
own  vanity  and  the  alluring  notes  of  a  birch-bark 
horn! 

Although  the  bull-moose  is  a  thoroughbred  Mormon, 
having  sometimes  as  many  as  five  wives  in  his  harem, 
yet  when  he  has  one  of  them  specially  under  his  pro- 
tection he  will  hardly  leave  a  bird  in  hand  for  one  in 


CALLING  THE  MOOSE  27 

the  bush.  I  have  myself  heard  him  answer  a  call 
while  engaged  in  his  protective  duty  and  then  make  a 
start,  which  in  this  instance  was  for  two  miles ;  but 
the  loving  voice  of  the  real  moose  arrested  the 
wanderer  and  brought  him  back  to  the  family  bosom. 
I  heard  and  saw  all  this, — saw  him  approach  the 
water,  step  into  it  and  splash  it  with  his  feet,  mean- 
while looking  cautiously  around  as  if  he  scented 
danger  in  the  air.  And  there  was  danger,  and  a  good 
deal  of  it.  In  the  front  of  a  canoe  sat  a  hunter  with 
rifle  ready  cocked,  and  heart  throbbing  with  thumps 
that  threatened  to  burst  the  buttons  off  his  coat.  A 
moment  of  breathless  suspense,  and  then  bang !  goes 
the  45-90  cartridge,  the  report  sounding  and  resound- 
ing through  the  woods  and  over  the  waters  for  miles 
around.  There  was  another  bang  and  yet  another. 
"Whether  the  uncertain  light  or  the  uncertainty  of  the 
hunter's  aim,  due  to  his  sitting  for  hours  still  as  a 
mouse  and  in  an  atmosphere  with  the  thermometer  at 
freezing  point,  had  anything  to  do  with  the  result,  T 
can't  say.  But  I  can  say  that  the  moose  escaped  un- 
harmed— untouched  by  the  bullet  that  might  have 
forever  put  an  end  to  his  midnight  prowlings  and  Don 
Juanish  intrigues. 

The  sport  of  moose  hunting  is  one  that  requires  a 
great  deal  of  patience  and  perseverance  from  the 
hunter,  and  under  such  trying  difficulties  as  exposure 
to  cold  and  loss  of  sleep.  But  his  reward  is  ample— 


28  SPORT   INDEED 

plenty  of  excitement,  and,  if  successful,  a  magnificent 
an  tiered  head  as  a  trophy  of  his  prowess. 

One  night  my  guide  and  I  set  out  to  paddle  up  the 
inlet  of  a  little  lake  we  were  encamped  upon,  with  the 
intention  of  calling  if  it  should  be  still  enough  to  do 
so.  There  was  some  wind  on  the  lake,  but  we  thought 
there  might  be  little  or  none  in  the  forest-sheltered 
inlet.  I  was  tucked  down  in  the  front  of  the  canoe 
with  blankets  to  keep  my  legs  warm  (for  the  night 
was  cold),  with  heavy  woolen  socks  drawn  over  my 
boots  and  a  woolen  cap  down  over  my  ears.  We 
paddled  about  a  mile  and  found  the  wind  worse  than 
it  was  on  the  lake  below,  and  strong  enough  to  make 
it  hard  canoeing.  In  a  big  bog  on  the  right-hand  side 
we  heard  a  branch  brake.  We  stopped  and  listened.  A 
deer,  we  thought,  as  another  and  another  branch 
broke.  Then  came  the  sound  of  heavy  footfalls  and 
we  knew  a  moose  was  "  coming  to  the  water."  We 
listened  intently — so  intently  that  I  could  hear  the 
ticking  of  my  watch,  though  it  was  buried  under  a 
sweater,  a  coat  and  an  overcoat ;  nay,  more,  I  heard 
—perhaps  it  may  have  been  fancy — the  stretching  of 
my  elastic  suspenders  as  I  breathed.  Soon  we  dis- 
tinguished through  the  dark  of  the  moonless  night  a 
great  object,  big  as  a  hippopotamus,  move  down  the 
bank  and  step  into  the  water.  The  guide  pushed  up 
the  canoe  deftly  and  silently,  but  the  wind  was  at  its 
worst  at  this  time  and  blew  the  canoe  diagonally 


CALLING  THE  MOOSE  29 

against  a  tree-top  sticking  out  of  the  water  on  the 
other  shore.  This  made  a  noise,  little,  it  is  true,  but 
yet  it  seemed,  oh,  how  great !  Just  then  we  saw  an- 
other huge  object  on  the  bank.  Now,  up  to  this  time, 
we  could  not  make  out  whether  the  monster  in  the 
water  was  a  bull  or  a  cow-moose,  and  it  was  rather 
important  to  know  which,  as  a  fine  of  four  months' 
imprisonment  is  the  penalty  imposed  in  Maine  for 
shooting  a  cow. 

It  was  so  dark  that  I  could  not  see  whether  the  big 
object  had  horns  or  not ;  but  the  guide  settled  the 
problem  with :  "  be  quick  !  that's  him  on  the  bank — 
now  down  him  ! "  I  raised  my  rifle,  aimed  for  what 
I  believed  to  be  his  shoulder,  and  pulled  the  trigger. 
Horror  of  horrors!  the  hammer  wouldn't  budge. 
Again  I  sighted  and  pulled,  and  yet  again,  but  all 
to  no  purpose.  My  rifle  was  more  harmless  than  a 
pocket  pistol  loaded  with  Jersey  applejack.  The  cow 
soon  took  alarm,  floundered  up  the  bank  and  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  both  were  gone ;  he  bellowing 
and  barking  through  the  alders  and  crashing  down 
everything  before  him  in  his  fury ;  and  she  silently 
stealing  away  in  the  darkness. 

There  were  two  very  disgusted  men  that  night; 
one  because  the  other  didn't  shoot  and  the  other  be- 
cause his  rifle  wouldn't  let  him  shoot.  On  coming 
into  camp  I  made  an  examination  of  the  trouble  and 
found  that  on  account  of  several  days'  steady  rain  the 


30  SPORT    INDEED 

lock  of  the  rifle  had  become  so  rusty,  although  greased 
every  day,  that  it  would  not  work.  To  this  that  bull 
moose  owed  a  little  longer  lease  of  life.  A  job  also 
awaited  a  gunsmith,  if  one  could  be  found  capable  of 
taking  a  rifle  apart  and  teaching  it  to  obey  the  trigger 
at  least  one  time  out  of  three. 

"We  had  been  in  these  northern  woods  of  Maine  for 
over  three  weeks.  In  that  time  there  were,  I  think, 
but  two  fine  days.  The  rest  were  made  up  of  winds, 
rain,  snow  and  ice ;  winds  from  all  points  of  the  com- 
pass ;  winds  that  would  start  with  the  strength  of  a 
gale,  then  soften  down  to  the  breath  of  a  zephyr. 
Still  they  were  winds,  and  we  had  them  of  every 
variety — you  see  we  were  "  moose  calling,"  and  you 
cannot  call  moose  successfully  in  windy  weather ;  that 
is  the  reason  we  noticed  the  wind.  Rains  ?  Yes,  of  all 
degrees  and  conditions;  soft  rains  and  hard  rains, 
gentle  rains  and  furious  downpours — one  of  which,  at 
the  time  I  speak  of,  was  having  things  its  own  way. 
My  guides  were  building  a  break-rain,  break-weather, 
break-water — or  whatever  you  may  please  to  call  it— 
of  fir  trees,  and  planning  where  to  put  the  door  ;  but, 
as  the  rain  seemed  to  blow  from  everywhere,  there 
was  more  promised  comfort  in  leaving  out  the  door 
and  carrying  the  fir  grove  entirely  around  the  camp. 

During  this  miserable,  rainy  spell  I  watched  the 
game  with  some  interest — what  little  of  it  I  had  been 
able  to  see — to  learn  how  they  relished  the  damp 


CALLING  THE  MOOSE  31 

humor  of  Jupiter  Pluvius.     They  seemed  to  fancy  it 
no  more  than  do  their  enemies,  the  human  bipeds. 

In  my  watching  I  observed  some  partridges  hud- 
dled under  a  big  log,  with  feathers  wet  and  all  the 
glory  of  their  color  and  fluffy  sleekness  departed. 
The  cock  bird  looked  woe-begone  and  cheap  and 
ragged — a  dripping,  melancholy  shadow  and  I  thought 
of  the  poet's  lament : 

"Shades  of  the  mighty  can  it  be 
That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  ?  ' ' 

Once  I  started  a  deer  from  out  a  clump  of  young 
pines  where  he  had  been  sheltering  himself.  Again,  I 
came  across  an  old  doe  standing  under  a  couple  of  big 
cedar  trees,  and  after  she  had  "  lit  out "  I  stepped 
into  her  arbor  and  sat  down.  Although  the  rain  was 
falling  in  streams,  yet  none  fell  on  me  and  I  spent  there 
a  couple  of  happy  hours  watching  the  capers  of  the  only 
living  things  that  had  the  courage  to  brave  the  storm 
—the  red  squirrels.  They  wrere  busily  occupied  in 
laying  up  their  winter  stores,  which  seemingly  were  to 
consist  of  pine  cones,  as  each  had  one  of  these  in  his 
mouth.  I  noticed  they  took  good  care  to  run  along 
the  ground  under  the  logs,  and  not  on  top  of  them. 

We  took  the  weather  philosophically,  because  we 
were  wrell  prepared  for  it.  We  had  plenty  of  dry 
clothes,  a  big  camp  to  shelter  us,  a  roaring  fire,  an 
abundance  of  the  finest  game  in  the  world  to  eat, 
clear,  mineral-spring  water  to  drink,  good  appetites, 


32  SPORT   INDEED 

and  rugged  strength  to  take  a  daily  tramp  whether 
the  weather  was  what  it  ought  to  be  or  whether  it 
wasn't. 

It  was  said  that  at  least  fifteen  hundred  sportsmen 
were  then  in  the  Maine  woods.  If  so,  they  required 
fully  two  thousand  guides,  making  an  army  of  say 
three  thousand  five  hundred  people,  many  of  them 
with  only  a  week  or  ten  days'  time  at  their  disposal, 
and  some  of  them  accompanied  by  ladies.  While 
the  weather-look  was  bad  for  us,  it  was  worse  for  "  the 
other  fellers,"  whose  short  supply  of  time  wouldn't 
allow  them  to  wait  for  the  glad  sunshine  to  come. 

So,  after  comparing  situations,  we  concluded  we 
had  much  the  better,  and  good-humoredly  pocketing 
complaint  we  waited  patiently  till  the  sun  thought  fit 
to  give  us  the  light  of  his  countenance. 


An  Unexpected  Treat 

Who  comes  here  ?     My  doe  ? 

— MEBRY  WIVES. 

ON  one  of  our  evenings  in  the  wilderness  we  had  a 
quiet  spell  for  a  few  hours,  and  my  guide  and  I  started 
out  moose  calling.  We  pushed  our  canoe  lightly  and 
very  cautiously  up  the  inlet  of  the  little  lake  on  which 
we  were  camped,  stopping  frequently  to  listen,  while 
we  peered  with  expectant  eyes  into  every  bunch  of 
alders,  every  clump  of  young  pines,  hoping  against 
hope  that  we  might  see  a  moose  "  coming  to  water." 
It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  air 
was  still,  not  a  breath  was  stirring,  and  the  scenery 
along  the  brook  was  clothed  in  beauty  beyond  the 
reach  of  poet's  pen  or  painter's  art.  Th«  brown  and 
green  tints  of  the  frosted  and  unfrosted  ferns ;  the 
tufts  of  waving  grasses  with  their  blades  tipped  with 
yellow;  the  alders  just  beginning  to  put  on  their 
autumn  brown  ;  the  red  maple,  the  yellow  birch,  the 
dark  green  pines,  the  stately  juniper,  the  sad  cypress 
— all  mirrored  in  the  tawny  stream  that  flowed  lazily 
beneath,  without  a  ripple  to  disturb  their  sembled 
beauty  or  a  murmur  to  interrupt  the  reigning  silence. 

33 


34  SPORT   INDEED 

Silence  ?  Yes !  Nature  seemed  to  be  up  to  her  neck 
in  the  depths  of  the  hush.  The  guide  now  shoved 
our  canoe  on  a  pine  root  to  anchor  it,  and  then  took  up 
his  birch-bark  horn  and  gave  the  three  calls  of  the 
cow  moose.  First,  the  short,  tremulous  wail ;  then 
the  more  urgent  and  commanding  one,  and,  lastly, 
the  long  resonant,  loving,  coaxing,  imploring  appeal, 
which  no  bull-moose  with  any  bowels  of  compassion 
can  resist.  To  produce  this  call  the  guide  winds  the 
horn  around  in  continued  circles,  the  motion  giving 
the  sound,  that  trembling,  undulating  effect  which  the 
genuine  article  always  has. 

Immediately  after  the  call  we  heard  a  branch  break 
in  the  woods  to  the  right  of  us,  perhaps  a  hundred 
yards  away.  I  took  up  my  field-glass  and  watched 
until  I  saw  a  couple  of  bewitching  eyes,  a  pair  of  ears 
erect  and  vigilant,  and  the  peculiarly  graceful  neck 
which  I  knew  could  belong  only  to  the  doe  deer.  She 
stood  between  two  cedars  and  for  awhile  watched  us 
intently,  then  stole  carefully  up  the  stream  to  where 
it  turned  sharp  to  the  left  and  where  a  bank  covered 
with  marsh  grass  made  a  pretty  foreground  for  the 
picture.  Here  she  planted  herself,  rigid,  with  nostrils 
dilated,  ears  standing  straight  up,  eyes  fixed  on  us, 
and  with  every  other  indication  that  we  were  the  only 
target  that  occupied  her  attention  and  curiosity.  The 
guide  gave  the  moose  calls  every  few  minutes  and 
they  could  be  heard  miles  away,  yet  there  she  stood, 


AN  UNEXPECTED  TREAT  35 

"  a  thing  of  beauty  "  that  charmed  our  eyes  and  rap- 
tured our  conceit. 

The  day  waned,  the  sun  dropped  behind  the  hills, 
twilight  came  and  went,  yet  there  she  stood,  motion- 
less, entranced,  and  silhouetted  against  the  evening 
sky  like  a  graceful  statue.  Her  eyes  were  still  fast- 
ened on  us,  and  when  the  cloak  of  night  shut  us  from 
her  sight  her  curiosity  seemed  to  become  uncontrolla- 
ble. "We  heard  her  cross  the  brook  softly,  then  steal 
down  the  left  bank,  picking  her  way  daintily  behind 
the  alders  and  cedar  trees  until  she  was  abreast  of  us. 
Then  she  stopped,  and  in  the  silence  we  imagined  her 
letting  loose  her  wild  inquisitiveness :  "  Who  can 
these  mortals  be  ?  Poor  things  !  How  can  they  sit 
so  long  on  the  water  and  keep  so  still?  What  do 
they  want  here  anyway  ?  And  where  did  that  heav- 
enly music  come  from  ?  " 

Perhaps  she  thought  all  this  if  she  did  not  speak  it. 
Then  she  stepped  out  in  the  open  and  came  so  close  to  the 
canoe  that  we  could  almost  have  hit  her  with  a  paddle. 
Did  we  shoot  ?  No,  sir  !  'No  thought  had  we  of  kill- 
ing the  soft-eyed,  unsuspicious  creature  whose  beauty 
and  grace  of  form  and  pose  had,  for  an  hour,  regaled 
our  sense  with  such  an  unexpected  treat  of  loveliness. 
Yenison  ?  Why,  we  would  have  gone  without  the 
dainty  dish  for  many  a  day  rather  than  have  had  it 
through  the  foul  murder  of  that  gentle,  gazelle-like 
doe  of  Chesuncook  Lake. 


Killing  the  Caribou 

Here's  sport  indeed  ! 

— CYMBELINE. 

had  been  semi-prisoners  for  about  three  weeks, 
and  wearied  with  rains  and  high  winds  which  effec- 
tually prevented  the  successful  bunting  of  big  game  in 
the  location  of  our  camp. 

Early  one  morning  in  October  my  guide  said  to  me 
"  Suppose  we  go  and  try  to  find  that  dam."  We  had 
heard  a  great  many  stories  about  a  dam  at  the  head 
of  the  stream  which  forms  the  inlet  to  our  little  lake, 
but  were  inclined  to  think  some  of  these  stories  Mun- 
chausenish.  None  of  our  guides  had  ever  seen  the 
dam  and  had  only  hearsay  for  its  location  and  dis- 
tance. One  maintained  it  was  but  five  miles  away  ; 
another  six,  and  the  third  vowed  it  was  a  good  eight 
miles  off;  besides,  there  are  two  branches  to  the 
stream,  and  no  one  knew  on  which  of  them  the  dam 
was  placed.  So  the  guide  and  I  started  in  light  hunt- 
ing order,  with  a  few  bouillon  capsules  which  were  to 
serve  us  for  dinner  and  supper,  and  possibly  breakfast, 
if  we  shouldn't  get  back  that  night.  We  found  a 
spotted  path  through  the  woods  that  led  to  an  old 
tote-road  up  which  we  went  splashing  through  the 

36 


w 

a 

a 

H 

fc 
O 


KILLING  THE  CARIBOU  39 

water  accumulated  by  weeks  of  rain  ;  up  to  our  very 
knees  in  mud  sometimes,  slipping,  falling  and  stum- 
bling over  cedar  roots,  climbing  over  and  under  wind- 
falls, until  we  reached  an  old  lumber  camp,  which  the 
guide  thought  it  his  duty  to  investigate.  No  Maine 
guide  can  pass  an  old  camp  for  the  first  time  without 
taking  a  look  in  to  see  if  anything  has  been  left  that 
he  can  make  use  of.  Before  he  reached  the  buildings 
three  deer,  one  of  them  a  big  buck,  jumped  out-  of 
some  raspberry  bushes  and  bounded  away  over  the 
creek  and  into  the  woods  beyond. 

I  started  for  them  and  stalked  them  for  nearly  an 
hour,  until  I  came  within  shooting  distance  of  the 
does ;  but  although  I  heard  the  buck  I  could  not  get 
my  eyes  upon  him,  and  the  does  I  did  not  want ;  so  I 
returned  to  the  road.  We  now  had  a  journey  of  three 
and  a  half  miles  over  a  road  probably  as  bad  as  could 
be  found  anywhere ;  that  is,  if  mud,  water,  alders, 
alder  roots,  cedar  roots,  windfalls  and  slippery  rocks 
could  make  it  so.  There's  an  end  to  all  things,  how- 
ever, and  the  road  finally  led  us  to  a  landing  on  the 
brook  where  a  large  number  of  logs  were  left  high 
and  dry  from  the  last  drive.  Some  of  them,  in  fact, 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  there  for  years.  There 
were  probably  half  a  million  feet  in  and  near  this 
spot.  "We  crossed  the  brook  and  found  a  logging  road 
which  we  followed  for  a  mile  or  more,  but  saw  no 
signs  of  a  dam.  We  heard  an  occasional  deer  crack- 

4G238O 


40  SPORT   INDEED 

ing  a  dry  limb  in  the  dense  wood  or  thicket  of  small 
pines  which  bordered  the  roadway  on  either  side,  but 
could  not  get  a  sight  of  him.  Here  the  guide  said  we 
had  better  turn  back,  as  we  were  going  in  the  wrong 
direction ;  but  I  proposed  walking,  at  any  rate  half  a 
mile  further,  and  probably  we  might  find  something 
worth  shooting  at.  We  made  one  turn  in  the  road 
when  we  heard  a  branch  break  in  front  of  us.  We 
stopped  to  listen,  and  soon  a  calf  caribou  came  out 
from  the  right  hand  side. 

It  looked  up  and  down,  saw  us,  then  moved  into 
the  forest  which  was  here  open  and  filled  with  stunted 
spruce  trees,  growing  in  a  thick  bed  of  moss.  The 
calf  was  followed  a  minute  later  by  a  cow.  The 
guide  whispered,  "  Now  look  out  for  horns  !  "  Then 
another  cow  came  out  and  crossed  the  road  followed 
by  a  sight  I  shall  never  forget.  A  pair  of  monster 
antlers  pushed  slowly  out  into  the  road,  and  then 
came  the  head  and  neck  of  a  caribou  bull.  A  second 
later  and  the  animal  came  into  full  view,  as  grand  a 
specimen  of  his  tribe  as  the  sun  ever  shone  upon. 

The  guide  whispered,  "  Hit  him  in  the  shoulder ;  be 
steady  and  sure."  And  I  was  sure,  for  when  I  fired 
my  45-90  rifle,  the  caribou  dropped  in  his  tracks  al- 
most at  the  same  instant.  He  hadn't  moved  an  inch 
after  being  hit.  The  ball  had  passed  through  his  left 
shoulder  and  out  at  the  neck.  We  soon  covered  the 
hundred  yards  or  more  of  distance  which  separated  us 


His  LORDSHIP;  AS  GRAND  A  SPECIMEN  AS  THE  SUN  EVER 
SHONE  UPON 


KILLING  THE  CARIBOU  43 

from  his  lordship,  whom  we  found  down  on  his  knees 
unable  to  rise.  And  then  a  battle  royal  started  be- 
tween the  guide  and  the  bull.  The  guide  wanted  to 
finish  him  with  the  back  of  the  axe,  and  in  order  to 
do  so  he  would  angle  around  him,  trying  to  get  in  a 
blow  on  the  forehead.  The  caribou,  however,  although 
unable  to  raise  himself  to  his  feet,  could  and  did  swing 
his  great  head  and  antlers  around  in  every  direction 
with  vicious  and  lightning-like  quickness.  Had  he 
caught  the  guide  with  his  antlers  it  would  have  been 
a  sorry  day  for  that  personage.  Another  shot  from 
my  rifle,  however,  settled  the  matter.  To  keep  the 
caribou  in  good  shape  we  elevated  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders upon  some  skids  that  were  in  the  road,  and  then 
tramped  back  to  our  camp,  a  walk  of  fully  six  miles. 
Next  day  our  three  guides  with  my  son  and  myself 
went  back,  taking  a  camera  with  us,  and  although  the 
morning  was  rainy  and  squally  we  obtained  a  fairly 
good  picture  of  him.  As  he  was  frozen  pretty  stiff, 
the  men  raised  him  up  on  his  feet  and  fastened  a  rope^ 
from  each  antler  to  a  couple  of  trees,  one  on  either 
side  of  the  road.  These  held  up  his  head  and  steadied 
his  carcass  so  that  my  son  was  enabled  to  photograph 
him  in  a  standing  position. 

The  guides  skinned  him,  but  took  off  his  head 
unskinned.  The  next  day,  in  order  to  incur  no  risk 
of  having  the  head  spoiled  by  the  wet  weather  or  care- 
less skinning,  I  sent  a  guide  with  it  to  Greenville,  a 


44  SPORT    INDEED 

three  days'  journey  there  and  back.  The  bull  was 
fourteen  years  old.  The  antlers  are  thirty-two  inches 
long  from  the  base  of  skull  to  the  tips,  and  have 
thirteen  points  on  each  side.  The  taxidermist  to 
whom  the  head  was  sent  said  it  was  the  finest  he  had 
seen  and  the  largest,  from  that  locality,  of  which  he 
had  any  record. 

On  the  night  of  our  caribou  victory,  although  very 
tired  and  badly  used  up  with  our  frightfully  hard 
walk,  neither  the  guide  nor  myself  slept  much.  The 
big  animal  would  haunt  our  sleep.  We  could  see  him 
almost  every  minute  of  the  night ;  and  even  now  the 
memory  of  the  scene  is  fresh  and  vivid  in  my  mind 
and  doubtless  will  be  for  many  a  moon  to  come. 


More  of  the  Moose 

The  Paragon  of  Animals. 

—HAMLET. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  caribou  hunt,  we  left  the  old 
bull  lying  in  the  road,  and  about  eleven  o'clock 
tramped  back  upon  our  tracks  to  prosecute  our  search 
for  the  dam  which  we  had  originally  started  out  to 
find.  Upon  reaching  the  brook  we  followed  it  up- 
wards some  distance,  until  the  guide,  who  was  quite 
"  done  up,"  said  he  would  make  a  fire  and  boil  some  hot 
water  in  a  tin  dipper  for  my  dinner.  I  decided,  how- 
ever, to  push  on  until  I  found  that  dam,  telling  him  to 
stay  where  he  was  until  my  return. 

The  stream  here  was  choked  up  with  cut  logs,  which 
made  it  nice  and  easy  walking,  or  easy  jumping,  from 
one  to  another.  Twenty  minutes  of  this  sort  of  travel 
and  I  reached  the  long-looked-for  dam.  Climbing  on 
top  of  it  my  eye  caught  the  view  of  as  lovely  a  spot 
for  big  game  to  feed  in  as  could  well  be  imagined. 
The  water  had  been  drawn  off  during  the  late  spring, 
and  a  luxurious  growth  of  swale  grass,  cranberry 
bushes,  and  young  alder  shoots,  had  sprung  up  in  wild 
and  wanton  profusion. 

I  sat  down  on  the  dam  and  let  my  senses  wallow 

45 


46  SPORT   INDEED 

in  the  sight.  A  stiff  breeze  was  blowing,  swaying  the 
tall  grasses  into  waves  of  graceful  motion  and  bring- 
ing to  my  ear  a  gentle  rustling  sound — a  twittering 
pianissimo,  as  it  were,  in  one  of  Nature's  pastorales, 
and  one  which  all  lovers  of  her  rural  melodies  would 
have  recognized  and  appreciated. 

After  my  fancy  had  played  awhile  it  ran  up  against 
the  thought :  "  What  a  tempting  sanctuary  is  this 
for  big  game !  Surely  it  won't  be  long  without  its 
antlered  heads  and  arched  necks."  Instinctively  I 
crept  behind  some  bushes  and  watched  and  waited. 
Fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  passed  without  my  ex- 
pectations being  fulfilled.  Then  I  thought  of  my  tin 
cup  of  bouillon  and,  fearing  it  would  be  spoiled, 
reluctantly  left  the  enticing  spot  and  traveled  back 
over  the  logs  to  where  the  guide  was  waiting  for  me. 

After  drinking  my  bouillon  I  told  the  guide  how 
near  the  dam  was  and  what  an  attractive  spot  for 
game  it  must  be ;  then  I  directed  him  to  take  my  rifle 
and  go  up  and  look  at  some  moose  tracks  which  I  had 
found,  and  I  would  boil  another  cup  of  water  for  his 
dinner  while  he  was  gone.  The  fire  had  burned  down 
low.  I  put  on  more  wood  and  sat  and  watched  the 
roaring  blaze,  and  whistled,  while  supreme  content- 
ment oozed  out  of  me  from  every  pore.  My  reverie 
lasted  till  broken  by  the  guide  who  rushed  in  with 
hardly  enough  wind  left  to  shape  his  words.  He  told 
me  that  just  as  he  got  to  the  dam  a  young  bull-moose 


MORE  OF  THE  MOOSE  47 

and  a  monstrously  big  cow-moose  had  come  out  of  the 
woods  and  were  feeding  in  the  open,  close  to  the  dam. 
We  jumped  like  gymnasts  across  the  logs  and  made 
some  leaps  that  might  have  caused  the  kangaroo  to 
blush  and  hide  her  head  in  her  pouch. 

As  we  approached  the  dam  our  steps  grew  cautious 
and  when  we  reached  it  we  peered  over  its  edge  and 
in  the  open  space  beyond.  The  bull  was  not  in  sight 
and  the  cow  was  more  than  five  hundred  yards  away. 
No  doubt  they  had  scented  the  smoke  from  our  fire, 
although  the  wind  was  almost  directly  in  our  favor. 
But  we  soon  saw  that  the  cow  was  uneasy  and  sus- 
picious. She  would  stop  her  feeding,  raise  her  mane, 
lift  her  head  in  the  air,  holding  it  there  for  a  minute  or 
so,  and  then  resume  her  feeding.  After  repeating  this 
program  three  times  she  gave  a  call  that  was  quickly 
answered  by  the  bull.  A  moment  later  he  rushed  out 
of  the  woods,  at  the  back  and  to  the  right  of  her, 
while  she  ran  to  meet  him.  Then  they  wheeled  about, 
threw  up  their  great  heads,  and  with  dilating  nostrils 
both  sniffed  the  suspicious  scent  which  had  alarmed 
the  cow  so  much.  They  were  at  this  moment  fully  six 
to  seven  hundred  yards  off.  Every  moment  seemed  to 
increase  their  alarm  and  it  was  evident  they  would 
soon  dash  for  the  woods. 

I  said  to  the  guide  :  "  "What  do  you  think  ?  Can  I 
down  that  bull  at  this  distance  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  can,  but  there's  no  telling  what 


48  SPORT   INDEED 

a  45-90  rifle  can  do.  If  you're  going  to  try  it  you'd 
better  begin.  They'll  soon  be  off." 

I  decided  to  try  the  shot,  and  from  under  the  edge 
of  the  dam  I  aimed  for  the  bull's  shoulder  and  fired. 
My  shot  was  a  clean  miss.  Then  we  saw  a  scene 
plainly  illustrating  the  amount  of  human  nature  that 
underlies  the  instinct  of  the  moose.  As  the  report  of 
the  rifle  rang  out  and  echoed  around  the  edges  of  the 
forest  encircling  the  open  space,  the  cow-moose  ran 
here  and  there  in  every  direction.  Fear  seemed  to 
have  dethroned  her  courage  and  prudence.  But  the 
bull  stood  still,  rigid,  erect,  his  mane  up,  while  every 
hair  on  his  body  bristled  defiance. 

I  fired  cartridge  No.  2,  making  another  miss.  Then 
came  a  repetition  of  the  scene  just  described,  the  bull 
standing  still  as  ever.  I  reasoned  that  the  strong, 
quartering  wind  to  the  right  was  deflecting  the  bullets; 
so  I  aimed  a  little  more  to  the  left  the  third  time  and 
fired. 

And  then  followed  a  strange  sight.  The  bullet  had 
reached  the  bull  and  he  started  with  a  rush  and  a  crash 
like  a  locomotive  off  the  rails.  Away  he  went, 
straight  for  the  woods  to  the  left.  The  guide  and  I 
then  sprang  upon  the  top  of  the  dam  and  watched  the 
cow  who  was  still  running  about  in  the  open,  and 
thoroughly  panic-struck.  A  couple  of  minutes  elapsed 
and  then  the  wounded  bull  ran  back  from  his  strong- 
hold of  timber  to  get  the  cow  away  from  danger. 


MORE  OF  THE  MOOSE  49 

This  gave  me  a  chance  to  fire  three  more  shots  at 
him.  While  he  was  circling  around  the  cow  and  try- 
ing to  lead  her  into  the  safety  of  the  woods,  he  seemed 
to  say  :  "  You  can  shoot  at  me  if  you  like  and  kill  me 
if  you  can,  but  I'll  save  my  frau  or  perish  in  the 
attempt ! " 

And  just  as  soon  as  he  had  her  headed  and  started 
right,  then  he  got  away  also,  both  entering  the  woods 
to  the  left. 

Then  the  question  came  :  What  shall  we  do  ?  The 
guide  said :  "  Let's  go  back  to  camp  and  give  him  a 
chance  to  lie  down.  If  he's  mortally  wounded  we'll 
find  him,  but  I  fear  you've  given  him  only  a  flesh 
wound."  We  stopped  at  our  fire  for  the  guide  to 
drink  his  bouillon  and  then  commenced  our  eight-mile 
journey  to  our  tent.  On  the  road  down,  and  before 
we  reached  the  logging  camp  where  we  had  started 
the  buck  deer  and  the  two  does  the  day  before,  I  crept 
along  very  cautiously,  hoping  to  catch  a  sight  of  the 
big  buck.  The  road  that  led  by  the  old  camp  had  a 
path  in  which  were  several  long  logs  leading  length- 
wise from  the  road  right  to  the  camp,  and  walking  on 
these  logs  with  rubber  boots  made  no  noise  at  all. 
Suddenly  I  came  upon  six  deer  feeding  in  and  around 
a  lot  of  raspberry  bushes.  Four  of  them  were  so 
bunched  that  I  could  have  placed  a  bullet  which 
would  have  gone,  possibly,  through  the  whole  four, 
certainly  through  three  of  them.  But  they  were  all 


50  SPORT    INDEED 

does  ;  the  buck  was  not  there  and  I  stole  back  to  the 
tote-road  without  even  alarming  them. 

It  was  dark  when  we  reached  camp,  and  we  were 
tired  ;  yet  the  excitement  of  the  day  had  been  so  great 
that,  wearied  as  we  were,  we  could  not  sleep.  The 
caribou  and  the  moose  and  the  six  deer  kept  marching 
through  our  minds  in  company  with  the  queries : 
"  Will  we  find  the  moose  ?  Is  he  killed  ?  Will  any- 
thing get  at  the  caribou  during  the  night  and  mutilate 
him  ? "  In  our  mind's  eye  we  saw  the  old  fellow 
dropping  in  his  tracks  ;  and  again  we  saw  the  bull- 
moose  rushing  from  the  woods  to  coax  the  wife  of  his 
bosom  back  from  the  reach  of  bullets  and  into  a  place 
of  safety. 

Thus  the  day's  adventures  would  be  vividly  reen- 
acted  till  daylight  broke.  Then  ready  and  eager  to 
solve  our  caribou  queries,  the  guides,  my  son  and  my- 
self breakfasted,  shouldered  camera,  axes,  rifles  and 
ropes  and  started  off  with  the  intention  first  to  photo- 
graph and  skin  the  caribou  and  secure  his  head,  and 
then  to  trail  the  wounded  moose.  It  was  half-past 
one  when  we  reached  the  dam,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
we  found  the  trail  of  the  bull  by  discovering  a  pool  of 
blood  in  the  swale  grass  and  another  considerable  pool 
on  the  edge  of  the  woods.  After  that  the  trails  of  the 
cow-moose  and  the  bull  were  so  intertwined  that  it  was 
hard  to  unravel  them.  But  there  were  five  of  us  and 
each  would  discover  a  trace  every  minute  or  two ;  some- 


MORE  OF  THE  MOOSE  51 

times  a  splash  of  blood  on  the  side  of  a  tree,  or  a  drop 
on  a  leaf,  or  a  streak  of  it  on  some  deadfall  the  wounded 
moose  had  stepped  over.  At  one  place  he  had  passed 
between  two  trees,  evidently  a  tight  fit,  as  it  showed 
the  blood  from  the  left  hip,  where  he  was  struck,  down 
his  leg  as  far  as  the  knee.  At  another  place  he  had 
stopped  and  quite  a  circle  of  blood  was  formed.  But 
nowhere  was  there  any  sign  that  he  had  lain  down. 
Nowhere  was  there  blood  enough  to  show  that  he  had 
been  mortally  hit.  We  followed  his  trail  for  over  two 
hours  and  then  reluctantly  concluded  that  our  moose 
would  live  and  prosper  perhaps  for  many  a  year  to 
come,  as  he  would  be  duly  careful  in  the  future  to  keep 
as  far  away  from  the  range  of  a  rifle  as  his  haunts  and 
habits  would  permit.  At  all  events,  he  would  never 
again  feed  in  a  meadow  in  daylight  during  the  open 
season — for  a  moose  needs  to  be  shot  at  but  once  to 
make  him  forever  after  the  most  cautious  animal  that 
roams  the  wild  woods. 


A  Lost  Man  and  a  Wounded  Moose 

I  have  lost  my  way. 

— ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

IT  is  the  unexpected  that  always  happens  in  hunt- 
ing. When  you  most  desire  and  look  for  your  game, 
then  is  the  time  you  don't  see  it ;  and  when  and  where 
you  don't  look  for  it,  then  and  there  you  are  apt  to 
run  against  it. 

My  guides  had  told  me  marvellous  tales  of  the  hunt- 
ing opportunities  that  flourished  around  a  certain  pond 
or  small  lake,  a  couple  of  days'  journey  from  our  camp- 
ing ground.  To  find  out  whether  these  tales  were 
true  or  not,  I  thought  it  worth  while  to  go  there, 
especially  as  one  of  the  guides  had  spent  the  previous 
winter  in  a  lumber  camp  near  by,  and  was  familiar, 
or  ought  to  have  been,  with  the  country.  There  was 
a  very  large  bog,  five  miles  long  and  about  a  mile 
broad,  which  was  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  caribou, 
moose  and  deer,  and  they  found  in  it  enough  rich  food 
for  sustenance  without  resorting  to  any  other  locality. 

Very  pretty  and  promising  all  this,  but  there  is  no 
rose  without  a  thorn,  and  this  rose  of  ours  had  one  in 
the  shape  of  a  goose — a  goose  of  a  sportsman  who  was 

camped  on  a  stream  some  two  miles  away  from  the 

52 


u 

H 

8 

H 


A  WOUNDED  MOOSE  55 

pond.  The  goose  delighted  in  firing  a  rifle  that  burned 
one  hundred  grains  of  powder  behind  a  fifty-calibre 
bullet,  and  enjoyed  himself  hugely  in  loading  up  his 
miniature  cannon  and  banging  away  at  red  squirrels, 
partridges  and  rabbits.  He  would  leave  his  camp  in 
the  morning,  walk  to  the  pond,  and  make  the  woods 
ring  for  miles  around  with  the  noise  of  his  rifle. 

The  unwritten  law  of  Maine  in  regard  to  the  shoot- 
ing-rights on  ponds  or  small  lakes  is  that  the  sports- 
man who  first  puts  a  canoe  upon  them  is  safe  from 
intrusion  on  the  part  of  any  other  sportsman.  Acting 
upon  this  hint  we  determined  to  paddle  up  a  stream 
as  far  as  we  could,  then  carry  our  canoe  to  the  pond 
and  take  possession,  thus  shutting  out  our  noisy 
friend.  So  at  four  o'clock  one  morning  our  strongest 
guide  started  with  his  canoe  on  his  back,  carried  it  for 
a  distance  of  two  miles,  placed  it  on  the  pond  and  re- 
turned to  camp  for  breakfast.  Then  after  our  morn- 
ing meal  I  started  with  another  guide  and  walked  to 
the  pond,  loaded  only  with  a  tin  cup,  an  axe  and  a 
rifle.  We  reached  the  pond  at  about  half-past  seven 
and  got  into  the  canoe,  but  at  the  very  first  dip  of  our 
paddle  we  heard  the  boom  of  the  50-100  rifle  fired  by 
our  goose  who  was  cracking  away  at  the  red  squirrels 
on  the  other  side  of  the  pond.  This  was  not  a  prom- 
ising state  of  affairs  for  us — big  game,  as  a  rule  don't 
like  cannonading,  nor  a  neighborhood  that  indulges  in 
it.  A  few  minutes  after  the  noise  of  the  shot  and  its 


56  SPORT   INDEED 

echoes  were  sobered  into  silence,  \ve  saw  a  pair  of 
deer  two  hundred  yards  away.  My  guide  suggested 
that  I  try  a  shot  at  them,  saying  it  would  be  a  good 
idea,  even  if  I  missed  the  deer,  for  it  would  let  the 
goose  know  that  there  was  a  canoe  on  the  pond,  that 
the  pond  was  mortgaged  and  he  had  better  find  some 
other  spot  for  his  cannonading.  The  deer,  however, 
were  in  an  awkward  place  to  be  shot  at  with  effect. 
However,  I  did  shoot  and  missed.  They  wheeled  like 
a  flash  and  bounded  into  the  woods.  The  sound  of 
the  shot  reached  the  goose  with  the  50-100  rifle  who 
stepped  out  into  the  open,  saw  us,  and  started  back 
for  his  camp. 

We  now  paddled  to  the  other  side  of  the  pond  and 
as  the  sun  was  coming  out  warm  we  left  our  coats  and 
vests  in  the  canoe,  took  with  us  a  tin  cup  and  four 
bouillon  capsules  and  left,  feeling  sure  that  the  goose's 
cannonading  had  killed  all  our  chances  of  seeing  any 
more  game  that  day.  "We  left  the  canoe  exactly  at 
eight  o'clock  (I  know,  for  I  looked  at  my  watch  on 
starting).  Not  more  than  five  minutes  later  my  foot 
stumbled  in  the  bog.  Recovering  my  foothold  and 
looking  up  I  saw  a  sight  that  startled  me.  Not  a 
hundred  yards  away  a  great  bull-moose,  with  wide- 
spreading  antlers  and  dilated  nostrils  stood  looking 
straight  at  me  from  between  two  trees.  The  place 
where  he  was  standing  was  one  where  a  man  would 
least  expect  to  see  him,  because,  by  all  rules  of  pru- 


A  WOUNDED  MOOSE  57 

dence  and  safe  moose  conduct,  the  noise  of  the  late 
rifle  shots  should  by  this  time  have  driven  him  miles 
away  from  this  locality.  It  appears  it  did  not.  And 
what  did  I  do  under  the  circumstances  ?  Well,  pre- 
cisely what  any  other  man  would  have  done.  Up 
went  my  rifle  and  without  sighting  or  even  an  attempt 
to  take  careful  aim,  I  blazed  away.  And  the  moose  ? 
Ah !  Like  a  ghost  he  came  and  like  a  ghost  he  dis- 
appeared. The  guide — a  French  Canadian — said: 
"  Vat  you  shoot  at  ?  "  "A  bull-moose,"  I  replied. 
"  Didn't  you  see  him  ? "  "  No,  I  no  see  him ! " 
"  Well,"  I  said,  "  we'll  take  up  his  trail  and  see  if  he's 
hit."  "  You  no  hit  him,"  he  answered  disdainfully. 

We  tramped  around  trying  to  find  his  tracks  but 
without  much  hope  of  seeing  them  or  the  tell-tale 
drops  of  blood ;  for  the  bog  was  soft  and  the  feet  of 
the  moose  thus  left  no  mark  as  he  ran,  and  the  red 
moss  that  covered  the  bog  prevented  the  blood — if 
there  was  any — from  showing  on  it.  We  finally 
worked  out  of  the  bog  and  took  the  ground  leading 
up  to  a  ridge.  Making  careful  search  as  we  walked, 
we  found,  at  last,  a  drop  of  fresh,  hot  blood  on  a  leaf ; 
then  a  little  further  on,  a  pool  of  blood  that  would 
have  filled  a  bucket.  This  blood  was  mixed  with  the 
pink  tissue  of  the  lungs,  showing  plainly  that  the 
bullet  had  gone  through  that  organ  of  his  anatomy.  I 
now  proposed  to  spot  the  trees  so  that  we  could  find 
the  place  again  and  then  go  back  to  camp,  giving  the 


58  SPORT   INDEED 

moose  a  chance  to  lie  down  and  bleed  to  death.  My 
French  Canadian,  with  a  whiff  of  his  old  clay  pipe, 
gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  bull  was  mortally 
wounded,  that  we  would  find  him  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
advised  that  we  follow  him  at  once.  "We  did  so,  find- 
ing no  difficulty  whatever  in  tracking  him  as  his  trail 
was  almost  a  continuous  stream  of  blood,  excepting 
when  his  wound  had  apparently  become  clogged  with 
a  piece  of  the  pink  tissue,  and  then  for  a  few  yards 
we  would  lose  his  trail ;  but  only  for  a  few  yards,  for 
soon  the  gushing  blood  would  spurt  its  passage 
through  and  form  another  pool.  And  thus  we  fol- 
lowed on,  over  ridges  and  through  swamps  and  bogs, 
hoping  soon  to  catch  a  sight  of  our  expected  prize. 
Sometimes  we  would  strike  a  place  where  the  bull  had 
stopped  to  listen  ;  and  again  where  he  had  gone  around 
a  windfall,  showing  he  was  hard  hit,  if  not  mortally 
wounded.  How  did  we  reach  these  conclusions  ? 
Simply  enough.  The  hunter — if  he  be  anything  of  a 
detective,  which  he  should  be — on  seeing,  as  we  saw, 
a  plainly  drawn  half  circle  of  blood,  would  say : 
"  Here  he  stopped  and  turned  half  around  to  listen." 
In  the  second  instance,  if  he  had  not  been  hard  hit  he 
would  have  gone  over  the  windfall  and  not  around  it. 
Once  we  saw  where  he  had  leaned  against  a  tree, 
either  to  rest  or  listen,  or  both,  but  nowhere  was  there 
any  evidence  that  he  had  lain  down.  Twice  in  our 
pursuit  we  heard  him  crashing  through  the  brush 


A  WOUNDED  MOOSE  59 

ahead  of  us,  but  at  neither  time  were  we  fortunate 
enough  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  him. 

Our  brain  befuddled  with  the  chase, 
We  took  no  note  of  time  or  space; 

and  before  we  were  aware  of  it  the  morning  hours 
had  gone  and  we  found  ourselves  on  the  borders  of 
another  lake,  miles  away  from  our  canoe  and  our 
camp. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  built  a 
little  fire,  heated  some  water  in  our  tin  cup  and  boiled 
a  bouillon  capsule  for  each  of  us,  which  we  drank. 
Then  came  the  question  :  "  "What  shall  we  do  now  ?  " 
The  guide  said  we  were  about  four  and  a  half  miles 
from  the  canoe,  and  that  in  following  the  twists  and 
turns  of  the  wounded  bull  we  had  covered  a  distance 
of  about  eighteen  miles.  His  advice  was  that  we 
should  start  at  once  for  our  canoe — after  spotting  the 
trees  with  the  axe  to  enable  us  to  take  up  the  bull's 
trail  again  and  track  him  to  his  deathbed.  So  at 
half-past  three  we  started  back,  the  guide  assuring  me 
that  he  knew  the  way  perfectly  well.  Maybe  he  did, 
but  coming  events  left  a  shadow  of  doubt  on  my  mind. 
He  first  led  through  an  alder  swamp  that  only  needed 
a  Bengal  tiger  or  two  to  rival  an  Indian  jungle. 
Lathered  with  perspiration  we  finally  got  through 
this  and  faced  a  high  ridge  covered  with  numerous 
windfalls.  After  scaling  the  ridge  and  getting  down 


60  SPORT   INDEED 

on  the  other  side  of  it  we  found  ourselves  in  a  dense 
cedar  swamp,  wandering  here  and  there  and  perspir- 
ing at  every  pore  with  the  labor  of  climbing  over  and 
under  logs  and  jumping  windfalls.  Then  came  the 
pleasant  conviction :  "  We  are  lost ! " 

The  weather  had  turned  cold  and  suggested  that 
we  lose  no  time  in  getting  some  wood  together  and 
starting  a  fire.  We  were  certainly  in  an  unpleasant 
predicament ;  without  coat  or  vest,  or  blanket,  or  tent, 
with  nothing  to  eat  and  nothing  to  drink.  Could  we 
have  found  water  our  remaining  two  bouillon  capsules 
would  have  made  us  a  good  supper ;  but  there  was  no 
water  and  consequently  no  supper.  The  best  and  only 
thing  to  do  now,  I  did.  I  pulled  off  my  hip  rubber 
boots,  intending  to  use  them  for  a  pillow,  dried  my  few 
clothes,  wet  from  perspiration,  and  kept  close  to  the  fire 
to  avoid  catching  cold  from  the  bare  ground  and  freez- 
ing air.  My  purpose  was  not  to  sleep,  but  keep  awake. 
"  Tired  Nature,"  however,  would  not  be  denied  her 
"  sweet  restorer,"  and  soon  I  was  in  a  slumber  that 
lasted  till  eleven  o'clock.  Then  I  awoke  to  find  the 
cold  intense.  Piling  more  wood  on  the  fire,  I  threw 
myself  again  on  Mother  Earth's  bosom  and  slept  till 
two,  when  the  frost,  settling  on  rrnT  face  like  sharp 
needles,  aroused  me.  Again  I  replenished  the  fire 
and  again  slept  till  five.  Then  I  awoke  and  just  in 
time  to  catch  Aurora  at  her  morning  task  of  decorat- 
ing the  eastern  sky.  And  I  watched  her  writh  the 


a 
u 
< 


A  WOUNDED  MOOSE  63 

greatest  satisfaction,  for  never  in  my  recollection  was 
daylight  so  welcome  to  me. 

Our  search  now  was  for  water,  but  we  succeeded  in 
finding  none.  We  did  find,  however,  a  thin  sheet  of 
ice  under  an  upturned  cedar  root.  This  we  broke 
and  melted  in  our  tin  cup  over  the  fire  and  then 
cooked  our  capsules  in  it.  Such  was  our  breakfast, 
and  I  am  rather  sure  the  Roman,  glutton,  Lucullus 
never  experienced  greater  satisfaction  over  one  of  his 
ten-thousand-dollar  dinners  than  we  did  over  that 
simple  meal  of  bouillon. 

After  our  breakfast  we  found  a  lumber  road  and 
followed  it  for  about  three  miles  to  a  great. marsh  or 
meadow.  Here  we  obtained  our  bearings,  discover- 
ing that  we  were  about  five  miles  from  camp,  which 
we  reached  at  eleven  o'clock  that  forenoon,  thankful 
and  happy  to  see  once  more  our  white  tent  and  the 
guide  we  had  left  behind,  whose  anxious  face  told 
plainly  of  his  alarm  at  our  absence.  He  had  been 
firing  shots  at  frequent  intervals  during  the  night,  but 
the  distance  between  us  prevented  our  hearing  them. 
We  had  been  tramping  around  an  ever-widening  circle, 
until  night  compelled  us  to  stop.  My  French  Cana- 
dian guide,  who  was  one  of  the  "  I-know-it-all "  men, 
had  nothing  to  say  in  extenuation  but  this :  "  I  don't 
compre'  how  it  all  did  happen.  I  did  know  ze  way 
sure,  and  then  I  didn't.  I  feel  much  sorry,  but  ze 
nex'  time  I  go  by  ze  compass,  not  by  ze  knows  how." 


A  Capricious  Beast 

You  are  a  pair  of  strange  ones. 


— CORIOLANUS. 


THE  moose  is  a  strange  animal  in  many  respects. 
In  his  outside  make-up  this  strangeness  is  strongly 
marked  by  his  large,  truncated  antlers,  his  "  bell " — a 
tuft  of  nerves,  muscles  and  hair,  hanging  from  his 
neck — his  great  mane,  his  high  shoulders,  his  retreat- 
ing hips  and  his  stumpy  bit  of  a  tail.  His  "  inside," 
or,  so  to  speak,  his  mental  make-up  is  quite  as  strange. 
He  is  full  of  suspicion,  ever  on  the  alert  for  danger, 
and  governed  by  a  disposition  stuffed  with  caprice. 
What  you  most  expect  him  to  do,  when  you  are  after 
him,  he  is  apt  not  to  do  at  all ;  and  what  your  experi- 
ence tells  you  he  will  never  do,  he  often  astonishes 
you  by  doing  in  the  most  provoking  manner.  He  is 
an  enormous  eater,  a  great  traveller,  and  something 
of  a  Lothario  in  his  relish  for  courtship.  He  usually 
feeds  in  the  early  morning,  rests  during  the  day, 
and  does  all  his  travelling  and  courting  at  night; 
although  the  whim  sometimes  seizes  him  to  venture 
a  visit  to  his  sweetheart  in  the  daytime;  but  it  is 
a  perilous  venture  and  one  which  he  often  has  cause 

to  regret. 

64 


A  CAPRICIOUS  BEAST  65 

Like  the  rest  of  the  deer  tribe  the  moose  is  afraid  of 
fire  and  smoke ;  and  yet  I  have  known  a  bull,  when 
wild  with  passion,  to  charge  into  a  camp  where  a  log 
fire  was  burning  and  a  French  Canadian  cook  was 
busy  washing  his  dishes  in  front  of  it. 

The  sudden  entrance  of  the  bull  created  considerable 
excitement  and  for  awhile  he  made  it  warm  enough  in 
that  camp  to  dispense  with  any  other  sort  of  fire. 
Without  any  ceremony,  further  than  bending  his  head, 
he  went  for  the  cook  and  chased  him  out  to  the  water, 
where  the  astonished  dishwasher  jumped  into  a  canoe 
and  paddled  hastily  from  the  shore,  shouting  to  the 
irate  moose :  "  Sacre,  mon  dieu  !  It  is  a  meestake — I 
did  not  make  ze  call !  " 

During  the  mating  season  there  is  no  denying  the 
heroism  of  the  bull-moose,  nor  the  courageous  care 
with  which  he  watches  over  the  welfare  of  his  mistress. 
But  when  his  passion  is  on  the  wane,  his  courage,  like 
that  of  Bob  Acres,  oozes  out  and  leaves  him  with  the 
heart  of  a  chicken.  At  these  times,  if  he  happens  to  be 
out  on  a  promenade  with  his  lady,  he  politely  asks  her 
to  walk  in  front  of  him.  Of  course  such  a  request 
would  be  commendable  were  it  not  for  the  ugly  sus- 
picion that  something  else  than  politeness  lurks  behind 
it.  He  is  always  brimming  with  caution,  and  who 
can  say  that  he  is  not  aware  of  the  hundred-dollar 
fine  and  four-months'  imprisonment  that  await  the 
slayer  of  his  mistress  ?  If  he  is,  then,  as  "  self-preser- 


66  SPORT   INDEED 

vation  is  the  first  law  of  nature,"  his  instinct  may 
possibly  tell  him  that  the  surest  way  to  preserve  him- 
self is  to  walk  behind  his  lady-love.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  his  bravery,  at  times,  resembles  that  of  the 
pigeon-hearted  Falstaff;  and,  as  life  is  probably  as 
precious  to  him  as  it  was  to  the  fat  knight,  perhaps 
he  is  excusable  in  taking  the  same  care  of  it. 

If  two  or  more  bulls  meet  during  the  mating  season, 
there  is  likely  to  be  trouble,  and  much  of  it,  especially 
if  one  of  their  lady-loves  should  chance  to  be  in  the 
neighborhood.  Here  is  an  instance,  however,  where 
they  smothered  their  jealousy — a  proof  of  what  I  have 
said  about  their  capriciousness  in  not  doing  what  you 
expect  them  to  do.  A  young  man  who  acted  as  cook 
for  a  party,  of  which  I  was  one,  had  a  strong  desire 
to  learn  the  art  of  moose-calling.  One  night  the  youth 
went  out  with  a  sportsman,  in  the  absence  of  the  regular 
moose-caller,  for  the  purpose  of  trying  his  hand  at  it. 
After  three  or  four  calls  he  was  delighted  with  an  an- 
swer. He  waited  a  little  while  and  then  heard  the  bull 
coming  down  through  the  alders  that  fringed  the  stream 
and  cautiously  steal  up  and  down  through  them.  Now 
and  then  the  youth  could  hear  him  strike  his  antlers 
against  the  alders  and  break  a  branch,  but  further 
than  this  the  hopes  of  the  young  moose-caller  were 
not  gratified.  All  his  piping  failed  to  coax  the  bull 
to  show  himself.  Disappointed,  disheartened,  weary, 
and  shivering  with  cold,  the  sportsman  and  his  young 


A  CAPRICIOUS  BEAST  67 

caller  returned  to  their  camp  and  slept  until  daylight. 
They  were  soon  up  and  paddling  their  canoe  to  the 
place  of  last  night's  seance.  They  approached  the 
spot  cautiously  and  saw  plenty  of  moose  tracks  along 
the  water's  edge,  but  nothing  of  the  animals  that  made 
them.  The  youth,  however,  took  up  his  moose  horn, 
gave  a  call,  and  almost  instantly  came  an  answer,  and 
\vith  it  a  sight  that  made  his  eyes  bulge  with  wonder. 
A  rush,  and  a  cracking  through  the  alders,  and  then, 
not  one,  but  three  big  bulls  stepped  quickly  into  view, 
gazing  inquisitively  at  the  canoe  and  its  contents. 
The  sportsman  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and 
picking  out  the  biggest  moose  of  the  three  for  his  aim, 
banged  away  at  him,  but — well,  the  youth  declares 
that  any  man  who  couldn't  hit  one  bull  in  a  three-ply 
bunch,  in  broad  daylight,  and  not  more  than  forty 
yards  away,  should  swap  his  rifle  for  a  gatling  gun. 
The  trio  had  escaped,  unharmed. 

Now  the  point  to  which  I  wish  to  draw  attention  is 
not  the  somewhat  queer  anomaly  that  a  "  sport " 
should  be  guilty  of  missing  the  big  head  of  a  bull  at 
forty  yards,  but  to  the  fact  that  three  male  moose 
were  bunched  together  in  the  mating  season,  and  in  a 
sociable  Avay,  with 

No  leer  of  battle  in  their  eye  ; 

No  clash  of  antlers  in  their  thought. 

Speaking  of  the  bull-moose's  eccentricities,  the  cow, 


68  SPORT   INDEED 

too,  has  hers,  and  they  are  no  less  marked.  The 
senses  of  hearing  and  smell  are  believed  to  be  keener 
in  the  moose  tribe  than  in  any  other  animal,  and  yet  I 
have  stood  within  a  few  feet  of  a  cow-moose,  seemingly 
without  her  being  aware  of  it.  She  was  coming  to- 
ward me  at  the  time,  with  her  head  down,  and  in  a 
careless  sort  of  way  that  betokened  unconsciousness 
of  danger.  I  stepped  behind  a  tree.  She  stopped  and 
listened,  drawing  in  volumes  of  air  through  her  big 
nostrils.  I  waited  for  a  while  and  then  pushed  out  from 
my  hiding-place  and  into  her  full  view.  She  showed 
neither  fright  nor  surprise,  but  eyed  me  inquisitively 
for  a  minute  or  two  and  then  turned  her  steps  leisurely 
into  the  woods.  Such  demure  equanimity,  however,  is 
but  an  intermittent  characteristic.  In  the  mating 
season  all  her  artless  composure  seems  to  desert  her, 
and  then,  like  her  lord  and  master,  with  nostrils  di- 
lated and  ears  erect,  she  is  ever  on  the  qui  vive  for 
danger. 

The  instinct  of  the  moose  approaches  closely  to 
human  reason — a  fact  which  may  be  illustrated  by  an 
incident  that  occurred  during  a  violent  October  snow- 
storm. A  pair  of  moose  were  found  standing  in  a 
clearing  near  an  old  lumber  camp,  and  by  their  tracks 
it  was  noticed  they  had  not  stirred  from  the  vicinity 
of  the  camp  since  the  storm  started,  on  the  day  pre- 
vious. Evidently  they  had  been  afraid  of  the  falling 
trees  in  the  woods,  which,  from  the  weight  of  the 


< 

u 


A  CAPRICIOUS  BEAST  71 

snow  upon  them,  were  crashing  and  breaking  in  every 
direction. 

A  bull-moose  in  a  passion  is  not  a  pleasant  fellow 
to  run  against,  as  a  lumber  operator  once  discovered. 
He  was  taking  a  gang  of  men  into  the  woods  and 
jogging  along  a  mile  or  so  ahead  of  them,  with  an  axe 
on  his  shoulder.  Hearing  a  slight  noise  he  looked  up, 
and  directly  in  front  of  him  stood  an  angry  bull. 
Whether  the  red  shirt  the  lumberman  wore  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  moose's  anger  I  can't  say  ;  but 
whether  it  had  or  not,  the  bull  made  a  vicious  rush 
for  him,  giving  him  barely  time  to  dodge  behind  a 
tree.  This  place  of  refuge,  however,  didn't  seem  to 
satisfy  the  lumberman.  The  bull  became  so  fierce 
and  determined  in  his  attacks  that  the  man  decided 
the  top  of  the  tree,  and  not  the  bottom,  was  the  only 
proper  place.  It  required  a  little  finessing  to  carry 
out  his  decision,  but  he  finally  succeeded  in  climbing 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  bull  who  stood  at  the  bottom 
keeping  a  sharp  eye  lest  his  contemplated  victim 
should  escape.  He  kept  up  his  sentry  work  until  the 
lumberman's  gang  came  along ;  then,  at  the  sight  of 
them,  his  bullship  turned  sullenly  around  and  re- 
treated into  the  woods. 

They  are  sometimes  very  hard  to  kill,  and  then 
again  are  killed  with  more  ease  than  a  small  deer.  A 
moose  was  hit  at  close  range  by  a  40-82  ball,  which 
tore  his  liver  and  lungs  into  fragments,  but  off  he 


72  SPORT   INDEED 

went  as  if  he  hadn't  been  touched.  A  second  ball 
pierced  his  heart  and  yet  he  traveled  over  sixty  yards 
before  he  fell. 

Yes,  they  are  the  most  uncertain  animal  to  hunt 
and  kill  that  can  be  found,  and  it  is  partly  on  account 
of  this  uncertainty  that  the  hunting  of  them  is  so  ex- 
citing and  captivating.  The  unexpected  is  always 
happening  in  moose  territory,  and  therefore  your  ex- 
pectancy is  constantly  kept  on  a  wire  edge.  You 
look  at  their  tracks — which,  maybe,  are  very  fresh, 
or,  perhaps,  very  old — and  say  to  yourself,  "  What  if 
he  would  show  himself  behind  that  bend  in  the  road, 
or  on  that  bit  of  open  bog,  or  in  that  bunch  of  alders, 
or  standing  in  among  those  lily-pads  ?  "  Then  you 
think  how  many  hours  it  was  since  he  passed,  and 
debate  in  your  mind  whether  it  was  in  the  night  or 
early  in  the  morning.  You  are  not  sure  of  anything 
that  relates  to  him.  The  water  where  he  planted  his 
big  feet  as  he  walked  in  this  muddy  spot  is  roily,  but 
it  doesn't  follow  that  the  fellow  did  not  make  the 
tracks  last  night,  instead  of  this  morning,  as  some 
water  takes  longer  to  settle  and  clear  than  other. 
You  cannot  be  exactly  certain  of  the  hour  that  he 
passed,  even  by  his  tracks.  I  am  speaking  now  of 
really  "fresh"  tracks  and  signs,  so  called,  which 
keep  the  hunter  continually  keyed  up  to  the 
sharpest  pitch  of  nervous  tension,  that  is,  if  he 
is  really  hunting  in  earnest,  and  not  killing  time 


A  CAPRICIOUS  BEAST  73 

in  examining  signs ;  or  if  he  be  not  too  lazy 
to  get  up  in  the  morning  when  the  frost  is  sharp  and 
keen  and  he  thinks  it  too  cold  to  leave  his  warm  and 
snug  bed,  to  say  nothing  about  going  miles  away  and 
sitting  for  hours  shivering  in  a  canoe  and  waiting  for 
an  answer  to  his  call.  All  this  he  should  get  used  to — 
and  must,  if  he  aspires  to  bear  the  hunter's  "  blushing 
honors  thick  upon  him." 


My  First  Bull-Moose 

But  if  thou  needs  will  hunt,  be  ruled  by  me. 

— VENUS  AND  ADONIS. 

I  HAVE  been  asked  to  narrate  the  killing  of  my 
first  bull-moose.  I  will  try  to  do  so,  yet  it  is  no  easy 
task.  Others  with  a  like  experience  in  moose  killing, 
I  think,  will  agree  with  me  when  I  say  that  the  anx- 
iety, the  exposure,  the  suspense,  a  hunter  must  un- 
dergo, and  the  cunning  skill  and  perseverance  he  must 
use  in  luring  the  suspicious  creature  to  the  water  and 
then  killing  him  are  hardly  within  the  power  of  an 
ordinary  pen  to  describe.  I  have  known  a  hunter, 
who  was  said  to  be  an  expert,  to  spend  nine  nights 
and  as  many  mornings  before  he  could  coax  his  bull 
to  come  from  shelter ;  and  when  he  did  show  himself, 
a  rifle  shot  rang  out  on  the  air,  of  course,  but  with 
what  result  ?  A  dead  moose  lay  there — not  a  "  giant 
of  the  Maine  woods "  as  the  hunter  had  so  fondly 
hoped — but  only  a  four-year-old  "  spike  horn." 

The  difficulties  surrounding  my  first  bull-moose  ad- 
venture, while  not  so  great  as  those  which  this  partic- 
ular hunter  had  encountered,  were  quite  great  enough 
to  satisfy  my  appetite  for  difficulties. 

And  now  for  a  bit  of  my  own  experience. 

On  a  calm,  frosty  night  while  the  October  moon 

74 


MY  FIRST  BULL-MOOSE  75 

was  yet  young,  my  guide  and  myself  paddled  noise- 
lessly out  of  the  lake,  on  which  we  were  camped,  and 
into  the  twisting  and  beautiful  stretch  of  dead-water 
that  feeds  the  lake  and  which  is  about  two  miles  long. 
The  guide  took  up  his  birch-bark  horn  and  ran  a  little 
water  through  it,  following  up  this  preliminary  by 
spitting  vigorously  first  on  the  one  side  of  the  canoe 
and  then  on  the  other.  I  didn't  then,  nor  do  I  now 
see  the  necessity  for  the  expectorating  part  of  his  pro- 
gram, but  I  hear  that  all  professional  moose-callers 
invariably  go  through  it  and  therefore  I  suppose  it 
must  be  a  necessary  part  of  the  performance.  This 
prelude  being  over,  the  guide  put  the  horn  to  his  lips 
and  gave  the  famous  moose  call  so  often  described 
and  yet  never  described.  We  sat  listening  to  its 
tremulous  notes  quivering  on  the  air  and  when  they 
died  away  in  the  silence  we  waited  impatiently  for  an 
answer.  Our  waiting  was  fruitless.  Save  the  hoot- 
ing of  an  owl  or  the  splash  of  a  muskrat,  there  came 
no  sound  to  break  the  grave-like  stillness.  Again  the 
guide  gave  the  call  and  again  we  waited.  Hark !  a 
crackling  of  alders  now  greeted  our  ears.  The  sound 
came  from  a  long  distance  up  stream  and  told  us  that 
a  creature  of  some  sort  was  approaching.  A  little 
later  we  heard  a  crashing  on  our  left,  but  no  grunting, 
no  barking  to  indicate  that  a  bull-moose  was  any- 
where in  the  neighborhood.  We  strained  our  ears  for 
a  sound  that  would  give  us  a  cue  to  the  sort  of  animal 


76  SPORT    INDEED 

that  was  breaking  the  bushes  and  whose  tread  was 
not  heavy  enough  for  a  moose  and  yet  too  heavy  for 
a  deer.  Then  we  heard  a  splash  and  then  another. 
"  They're  in  the  water ;  we'll  soon  see  what  they  are," 
said  the  guide.  "We  pushed  the  canoe  softly  up  the 
stream,  but  the  creatures,  whatever  they  were,  had 
heard  us  and  left  the  water.  The  stream  was  narrow, 
not  more  than  twenty  feet  wide,  with  high  alders  on 
each  bank,  and  on  either  side  of  us  was  some  animal, 
we  knew  not  what,  that  probably  had  its  eyes  and 
ears  open  for  our  every  motion,  watching  us  suspi- 
ciously as  though  we  were  freebooters  and  had  no 
right  to  be  filibustering  in  its  domain. 

The  guide  now  whispered  to  me,  "  If  they  are  moose, 
you  will  find  the  one  on  the  right  hand  is  the  bull." 

We  could  see  nothing,  yet  we  sat  there  for  fully 
an  hour  straining  our  eyes  through  the  darkness  and 
opening  our  ears  for  a  clue  that  would  tell  us  at  least 
what  sort  of  creatures  they  were. 

The  night  was  getting  colder  and  my  teeth  began 
to  rattle  like  a  pair  of  castanets.  It  was  quite  nat- 
ural therefore  that  I  should  be  anxious  for  our  sus- 
pense to  come  to  an  end  of  some  sort;  and  it  did. 
With  a  snort — or,  rather,  two  snorts — the  animals 
bounded  away,  and  in  a  twinkling  both  were  gone. 

They  were  deer,  not  moose  as  we  had  hoped.  Dis- 
appointed, and  chilled  to  the  bone,  we  paddled  sadly 
back  to  our  camp  and  turned  in,  as  it  seemed  unlikely 


MY  FIRST  BULL-MOOSE   .          77 

we  should  have  further  use  for  moose-calling  that 
night. 

Next  morning  we  were  out  at  half-past  four,  but 
we  received  no  answer  to  our  calls.  In  the  evening 
of  the  second  day  we  went  up  the  stream  as  early 
as  five  o'clock,  running  the  nose  of  the  canoe  into  a 
bunch  of  swale  grass  near  to  the  mouth  of  an  old 
lumber  road.  This  night,  like  the  last,  was  clear  and 
very  cold  and  the  water  was  freezing  in  the  shallow, 
quiet  parts  of  the  stream,  making  a  turn  of  the  canoe 
in  some  places  a  noisy  performance.  After  the  first 
call  had  echoed  and  reechoed  around  the  ridges  on  our 
right  and  left,  we  were  rejoiced  to  get  an  answer. 
At  first  it  was  only  a  smothered  grunt ;  then  followed 
a  hoarse,  well-defined  bark  that  seemed  to  be  miles 
away.  Louder  and  louder  and  more  frequent  grew 
the  barking  as  the  bull  came  nearer — for  bull  it  was 
— and  it  seemed  as  if  each  step  of  his  approach  was 
accompanied  with  a  grunt  or  a  bark.  To  our  dismay 
he  came  down  the  very  road  of  which  we  were  nearly 
in  front.  When  almost  at  its  mouth,  he  stopped, 
listened  for  a  moment  and  then  moved  up  and  down 
the  banks,  crashing  and  breaking  the  alders  and  listen- 
ing at  every  step,  as  if  to  catch  another  whisper  from 
his  mistress.  Yet  he  took  the  best  of  care  not  to 
show  himself.  In  the  meanwhile  the  guide  was  busy 
pawing  the  water  with  his  birch-bark  horn  or  letting 
some  of  it  pour  from  the  narrow  end  of  the  instru- 


y8  SPORT   INDEED 

ment.  These  manoeuvres  were  intended  to  imitate  the 
motions  of  the  impatient  cow  and  were  expressly  for 
the  bull's  information,  telling  him  that  his  lady-love, 
whose  voice  he  had  heard  and  for  whose  embraces  he 
was  longing,  was  now  feeding  in  the  water  on  lily- 
pads  and  almost  under  the  nose  of  his  majesty.  But 
his  majesty  was  cautious.  He  was  most  eager,  of 
course,  to  meet  his  inamorata  and  have  an  embrace 
or  two,  but  he  was  not  disposed  to  let  his  eagerness 
get  the  better  of  his  prudence.  He  evidently  scented 
treachery  in  the  air  and  was  so  shy  that  all  the  guide's 
ingenuity  failed  to  coax  him  to  come  from  out  the 
alders  and  show  himself.  Though  we  could  catch  no 
glimpse  of  him,  doubtless  he  had  all  the  glimpses  he 
wanted  of  us,  and  pipe  as  we  might  he  was  in  no 
humor  to  dance  to  our  music.  So  we  left  him,  re- 
turned to  camp  and  turned  in,  with  our  brain-pan 
brimming  with  visions  of  a  bull-moose  with  an  ounce 
of  lead  in  his  vitals. 

The  morning  of  the  third  day  found  us  dressed  and 
in  the  canoe.  It  was  then  three  o'clock  and  as  dark 
as  Cimmerian  pitch.  A  swift  paddle  to  the  head  of 
the  lake,  then  a  silent  push  up  the  stream  and  our 
calling  spot  was  reached.  We  gave  our  first  call  at 
four  o'clock  and  then  waited  fifteen  minutes  for  an 
answer  which  didn't  come.  Then  we  gave  another 
series  of  calls  and  again  waited.  The  guide  now 
leaned  towards  me  and  whispered :  "  Listen !  is  that  a 


MY  FIRST  BULL-MOOSE  79 

moose  or  an  owl  'way  off  there  ?  "  "  Can't  say  yet," 
I  replied ;  "  it  sounds  a  little  like  both."  "We  then 
gave  a  third  call,  and  after  a  rapt  silence  we  again 
heard  the  unknown  sound.  We  listened  and  distinctly 
heard  the  breaking  of  a  branch  a  long  distance  away. 
Again  we  strained  our  ears,  and  this  time  they  were 
rewarded  with  a  decided  answer  from  a  bull-moose. 
He  was  surely  coming,  but  not  with  the  tearing  rush 
so  characteristic  of  these  fellows  when  they're  on  their 
way  to  their  sweetheart.  He  was  taking  his  own  time 
and  approaching  very  leisurely.  Probably  he  felt 
sure  of  the  fair  one  who  had  so  lovingly  called  him  and 
therefore  there  was  no  need  of  hurry.  She  could  wait. 
And  now  the  day  was  breaking.  Kosy  tints  were 
lighting  up  the  sky  and  shimmering  on  the  alders,  the 
cranberry  bushes  and  the  hazels — all  freshly  clothed 
in  a  suit  of  night  frost.  It  might  have  seemed  to  a 
casual  observer  that  both  the  guide  and  myself  were 
clothed  in  a  like  manner,  for  we  sat  there  with  a  chat- 
ter of  teeth  and  a  shiver  of  limbs  that  our  blankets, 
our  overcoats,  and  our  heavy  gloves  could  not  put  a 
stop  to.  We  kept  perfectly  still  otherwise ;  fearing 
almost  to  breathe,  lest  it  might  create  some  sound 
that  would  reach  the  sharp  ears  of  the  bull.  Yet  at 
this  critical  time  my  teeth  started  up  a  fresh  and  vig- 
orous chatter,  which  the  guide's  molars  and  incisors 
promptly  took  up,  and  with  the  liveliest  sort  of  a 
staccato  movement.  Now,  I  am  quite  sure  that  if  the 


80  SPORT   INDEED 

bull  had  been  within  hearing  and  had  an  ear  for  music 
of  that  sort,  our  chatter  duet  must  have  been  highly 
entertaining  to  him.  But  he  either  had  no  musical 
ear  or  was  too  far  away  to  take  in  our  duet,  for  he 
continued  on  his  way  through  the  alders  at  his  former 
slow  and  dignified  gait.  At  one  time  he  stopped  to 
reconnoitre.  Then  he  passed  up  and  down  through 
the  bushes,  listened  a  moment  to  the  guide's  pawing 
of  the  water,  cocked  up  his  ears  and  suddenly  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  been  fooled.  He  at 
once  let  loose  his  disappointment  with  a  roar  of  rage 
and  revenge  that  might  have  been  heard  miles  away. 
The  bare  thought  of  being  tricked  filled  him  with  in- 
dignation and  a  strong  desire  to  get  away  from  such 
a  treacherous  spot.  The  guide  kept  quiet  until  the 
angry  bull  had  gotten  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away 
from  the  canoe.  Then  picking  up  his  horn  he  gave  a 
low,  tremulous  and  loving  call.  The  moose  immedi- 
ately wheeled  about  and  walked  back,  answering  the 
call  between  his  steps,  and  in  the  most  affectionate 
and  apologetic  tones.  They  spoke  as  plainly  as  the 
tongue  of  a  moose  knows  how  to  speak :  "  Forgive 
me,  darling ;  I've  been  fooled  so  often.  I'll  soon  be 
with  you,  pet ! "  When  he  reached  the  alders  he 
stopped  for  a  minute,  and  the  guide  took  advantage 
of  that  minute  to  imitate  the  sounds  made  by  a  feed- 
ing cow.  They  soon  reached  the  alert  ears  of  the 
bull  and  seemed  to  satisfy  and  fill  him  with  the 


MY  FIRST  BULL-MOOSE  83 

thought :  "  There's  no  mistake  this  time.  Here  she 
is ! "  I  don't  know  whether  he  thought  this  or  not, 
but  certain  it  is  that  he  plunged  into  the  water  and 
commenced  wading  down  the  stream,  which  at  this 
place  followed  the  land  around  a  point  that  formed  a 
long,  narrow  elbow.  We  first  thought  he  would  burst 
through  the  fringe  of  alders  on  the  thinnest  part  of 
this  elbow,  and  therefore  pushed  in  our  canoe.  How- 
ever, he  passed  that  point,  still  wading  in  the  water, 
and  we  were  compelled  to  back  out  of  this  little  cove 
and  into  the  stream. 

The  guide  now  shoved  the  canoe  directly  towards 
him,  as  swiftly  as  he  could,  whispering  to  me  "  Be 
steady  now !  Don't  lose  him."  Meanwhile  I  had 
my  rifle  to  my  shoulder,  expecting  each  moment 
would  give  me  my  opportunity  to  use  it.  It  was  now 
daylight,  exactly  half-past  five  ;  the  bull  was  coming 
down  the  stream  and  we  were  going  up.  My  mind 
was  full  of  what  I  expected  would  happen,  and  I  was 
saying  to  myself  "  failure  is  impossible,"  when  the 
canoe  rounded  a  sharp  point  of  the  elbow,  and  behold, 
there  stood  his  majesty !  His  head,  topped  by  his 
grand  antlers,  was  thrown  proudly  back,  while  his 
whole  attitude  was  one  of  confident  expectancy  as  he 
marched  to  meet  his  pseudo-mistress.  He  saw  me 
and  made  a  quick  movement  to  the  right,  bringing 
his  head  sideways  to  me.  This  was  my  chance  and  I 
fired  instantly,  aiming  at  a  point  an  inch  or  two 


84  SPORT   INDEED 

below  the  base  of  his  antlers.  After  the  shot  he 
whirled  around,  giving  me  a  broadside  chance  which 
I  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of.  The  next  instant 
a  dead  bull  toppled  over  into  the  water.  He  hadn't 
moved  a  step  after  my  first  shot,  and  the  whole 
performance  was  over  in  less  than  half  a  minute. 
The  first  ball  had  entered  just  below  the  ear,  and  this 
it  was,  no  doubt,  that  caused  him  to  whirl.  It  was 
in  fact  the  fatal  shot.  The  second  one  had  penetrated 
his  loins. 

The  guide  now  shoved  the  canoe  up  to  the  shore 
and  we  both  got  out  and  danced  and  jumped  to  warm 
ourselves.  We  also  did  a  little  dancing  for  joy  at  the 
sight  of  the  great  beast  lying  in  the  water,  with  the 
blades  of  his  antlers  showing  one  half  above  the  sur- 
face of  the  stream.  We  forgot  all  about  our  exposure, 
our  suspense,  our  loss  of  sleep,  and  our  many  disap- 
pointments, and  with  one  loud  hurra  we  paddled  back 
to  camp,  and  there,  over  the  breakfast-table,  we  told 
to  our  companions  hoAV  I  killed  my  first  bull-moose. 

Was  I  proud  ?    Well,  rather ; 

No  chit,  in  his  first  pair  of  breeches  ; 
No  swain,  in  a  '*  yes  "  from  his  loved  one  ; 
No  spouter,  with  audience  captured  ; 
No  General,  with  victory  won  - 

ever  felt  prouder  than  did  I,  as  I  stood  in  the  Wilds 
of  Maine  and  over  the  prostrate  carcass  of  that 
"  Giant  of  the  Northern  Forests.  " 


A  Caribou  Hunt 

How  many  goodly  creatures  are  there  here  ! 

— THE  TEMPEST. 

A  BRIGHT  morning  in  one  September  found  me  on 
my  way  for  a  caribou  hunt  in  the  pine  woods  of 
Maine.  The  train  had  reached  Boston  and  I  was 
about  stepping  from  the  sleeper  when  a  sudden  kink 
in  my  back  warned  me  that  there  was  trouble  ahead 
for  Thomas.  In  plainer  words,  I  felt  it  in  my  bones, 
or  rather  muscles,  that  my  ~bete  noire,  the  lumbago, 
was  about  to  pay  me  a  visit.  In  one  respect  that 
wily  disease  resembles  the  rattle-snake  —  it  doesn't 
use  its  fangs  without  warning ;  but  it  is  very  unlike 
the  rattler  in  another  respect ;  when  its  warning 
does  come,  its  fangs  are  sure  to  come  with  it. 

From  Boston  to  Greenville,  Maine,  towards  which 
we  were  traveling,  is  a  ride  of  nine  hours,  and  during 
that  time  the  lumbago  had  been  grinding  its  fangs 
into  my  lumbar  regions  and  twisting  my  backbone 
till  its  owner's  contour  looked  something  like  the 
letter  S. 

On  reaching  Greenville  I  decided  that  I  must  adopt 
some  heroic  measure,  and  do  it  quickly,  or  the  bottom 
would  be  knocked  out  of  my  caribou  hunt.  Expe- 

85 


86  SPORT   INDEED 

rience  told  me  that  exercise  was  the  most  effective 
physic  for  the  complaint  and  I  was  not  long  in 
thinking  of  something  that  would  give  me  plenty 
of  it. 

I  asked  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  at  which  I  stopped 
if  he  had  a  bicycle  in  the  house.  He  said  he  had,  but 
it  was  one  of  the  female  gender. 

"  All  the  better,"  I  replied.     "  Let  me  have  it." 

How  I  mounted  that  bicycle  I  leave  to  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  reader  ;  but  if  he  has  never  seen  a  man 
with  the  lumbago,  in  the  act  of  mounting  the  silent 
steed,  his  imagination  will  be  of  little  use  to  him. 
To  get  on  the  saddle,  usually  the  work  of  an  instant, 
now  consumed  many  of  them,  and  if  "  the  steed  "  had 
been  a  diamond  frame,  instead  of  the  female  sort,  I 
can't  say  that  I  ever  would  have  got  there. 

Once  mounted  I  took  a  hard  ride  of  a  few  miles, 
with  plenty  of  stiff  hills  to  climb.  "When  I  got  back 
I  was  in  a  profuse  perspiration.  Then  I  sent  for  the 
village  doctor ;  not  that  I  had  more  faith  in  a  village 
doctor  than  any  other  sort,  but  because  "  any  other 
sort "  was  out  of  the  question.  He  came,  bringing 
with  him  an  electric  battery  and  a  big  bottle  of 
iodine.  Then  baring  my  back  for  operations  he  soon 
had  the  battery  to  work,  and  it  played  around  my 
lumbar  regions  and  kept  up  its  tingling  sensations  for 
fifteen  minutes.  After  this  he  painted  my  entire  back 
with  the  iodine  and  left  me  with  the  assurance  that  I 


A  CARIBOU  HUNT  87 

would  soon  feel  the  effect  of  his  treatment ;  and  I 
did — a  little  sooner  and  a  little  more  unpleasantly 
than  I  wished.  The  iodine  seemed  to  be  ripping  the 
skin  from  my  back  and  in  so  savage  a  manner  that 
the  pain  of  it  kept  me  awake  till  four  o'clock  next 
morning.  By  that  time  the  iodine  had  finished  its 
work.  In  a  few  days  the  scorched  cuticle  began  to 
peel  and  continued  its  peeling  until  my  back  was  as 
bare  as  a  skinned  catfish.  Then  I  wondered  how 
long  it  would  be  before  I  could  boast  of  a  new  suit  of 
skin.  (I  might  say  in  parenthesis  that  although  my 
back  had  worn  the  old  one  for  fifty  years  it  was 
still  a  good  deal  better  than  none  at  all.) 

However,  "  Everything  comes  to  him  who  waits  " 
and  the  new  suit  reached  me  as  the  old  one  left.  I 
had  no  fault  to  find  with  its  fit  and  it  will  probably 
wear  me  the  remainder  of  my  days,  unless  I  should 
again  tumble  into  the  iodine  bottle  of  a  village  doctor. 

How  about  the  lumbago?  Ah  !  I  am  sorry  to  say 
it  still  lingered  and  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to 
leave.  But  it  did  leave  finally  and  in  this  way.  I 
had  been  out  hunting  on  a  caribou  bog  for  six  days, 
jumping  from  log  to  log,  climbing  over  "  dead-falls  " 
and  dodging  the  branches  of  the  juniper  and  spruce 
trees.  The  motions  attendant  upon  these  athletics 
caused  me  much  discomfort,  as  my  lumbago  kinks 
followed  one  another  with  a  rapidity  and  an  energy 
that  threatened  to  throw  me  off  my  pins.  However, 


88  SPORT   INDEED 

I  weathered  through  the  exercise,  but  the  lumbago 
didn't.  It  soon  became  disgusted  at  my  stubbornness 
and  left  me  as  suddenly  as  it  came.  Whither  it  went 
I  know  not,  unless  in  search  for  the  lumbar  districts 
of  some  passive  victim,  where  it  may  get  in  its  work 
undisturbed. 

My  trip  down  the  Penobscot  Kiver  consisted  of  a 
glorious  run  of  twenty-one  miles.  We  left  the  carry 
at  one  thirty  and  reached  Chesuncook  Lake  at  eight 
o'clock. 

Running  through  Rocky  Rips  on  our  way  down, 
we  heard  two  moose  wading  in  the  water  near  the 
shore.  The  moon  was  shining,  but  the  shore  was 
darker  where  they  were  than  if  there  had  been  no 
moon  ;  so  we  couldn't  catch  even  a  glimpse  of  them. 
Below  Pine  Stream  Falls  we  heard  another  of  the 
same  sort  feeding  in  the  water.  We  paddled  swiftly 
to  where  she  was  feeding  (it  was  a  cow-moose),  but 
she  heard  us  and  got  out  of  the  water  in  double-quick 
time,  rushing  through  the  woods  and  crashing  through 
the  alders,  at  the  same  time  giving  vent  to  her  alarm 
in  loud  trumpetings. 

At  Pine  Stream  Falls  it  is  customary  for  the 
"  sport "  to  get  out  of  the  canoe  and  walk  through 
the  woods  along  a  well-defined  path  which  follows  the 
stream.  I  had  brought  with  me  a  new  invention 
which  is  something  like  a  music  roll  in  shape  and  size 
and  fitted  with  a  powerful  lens  at  one  end  and  a 


A  CARIBOU  HUNT  91 

dry  electric  battery  at  the  other.  By  pressing  a 
ring  a  fair  sized  light  is  produced.  Carrying  this  in 
one  hand  to  light  my  path,  and  with  my  rifle  in  the 
other,  I  walked  leisurely  along.  As  I  approached  a 
clump  of  high  swale  grass  that  lay  ahead  of  me,  my 
light  flashed  along  the  path  and  lit  upon  a  deer  that 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  clump.  She  straightened 
herself  up  and  gazed  at  the  light  with  wondering 
eyes,  as  if  the  unwonted  sight  had  hypnotized  her. 
She  allowed  me  to  approach  witnin  a  few  feet  of  her, 
and  as  she  looked  in  awe  at  the  light,  I  looked  in 
wonder  at  its  mystic  reflection  from  her  orbs  of 
vision —  a  green,  weird  glow  that  fascinated  me. 
Thus  we  stood  gazing  at  each  other  for  five  minutes 
or  more  ;  then  shifting  the  hypnotizing  rays  from  her 
eyes  I  bade  her  a  loving  good-night,  and,  with  a 
laugh  at  the  quickness  with  which  she  bounded  into 
the  darkness,  I  trudged  on  my  way. 

When  Thoreau,  the  naturalist,  came  down  this 
piece  of  river  in  1853,  he  found  two  Indians  near  the 
North  East  Carry  camping  out  and  drying  and 
smoking  moose  meat  for  their  winter's  food.  He 
spent  a  night  with  them.  They  had  killed  twenty 
moose,  mostly  cows,  and  were  curing  the  hides  as 
well  as  smoking  and  drying  the  meat.  In  his  trip 
down  the  river  he  saw  one  moose,  which  his  com- 
panion killed,  but  no  deer.  He  passed  down  again  in 
1857,  taking  the  Allagash  River  and  lake  in  his  trip, 


92  SPORT    INDEED 

and  again  his  companion  killed  a  moose,  and  again 
they  saw  no  deer.  It  is  only  of  recent  years  that  the 
latter  have  become  so  numerous  as  to  excite  little 
comment,  and  I  firmly  believe  that  the  moose  also  are 
increasing  in  numbers  ;  but  the  caribou  are  becoming 
extinct,  or  perhaps  are  leaving  because  their  food— 
the  black  moss  which  grows  on  the  juniper  trees — is 
becoming  scarcer  as  the  years  go  by.  Some  lumber- 
men claim  that  a  disease  is  killing  the  juniper  trees  in 
Maine.  If  this  be  so,  the  caribou  will  probably  wend 
his  way  to  the  maritime  provinces  of  Canada  where 
he  can  find  moss  in  abundance. 

I  spent  one  week  on  a  caribou  bog,  traversing  it 
from  centre  to  circumference  and  becoming  familiar 
with  all  its  nooks  and  crannies,  its  alleyways  and  its 
main  rendezvous.  Frequently  did  I  sit  watching  the 
caribou  cows — and  beautiful  they  are,  too,  and  as  sleek 
and  fat  as  thoroughbred  Jerseys.  On  one  occasion  I 
met  one  of  them  face  to  face,  and  she  was  not  more 
than  twenty  feet  from  me.  She  looked  at  me  earnestly 
for  some  minutes  and  then  turned  slowly  about  and 
walked  away.  Twice  she  repeated  these  movements 
but  at  neither  time  did  she  show  the  slightest  fear  or 
any  alarm. 

I  devoted  the  most  of  my  six  days  in  searching  for 
the  "  King  of  the  Bog" — a  fellow  with  a  royal  pair  of 
antlers.  I  picked  up  what  I  presumed  was  the  set  he 
had  discarded  in  the  previous  spring.  They  Avere 


A  CARIBOU  HUNT  93 

somewhat  eaten  away  by  the  mice,  but  there  was  still 
enough  regal  beauty  left  to  entitle  them  to  an  honored 
place  in  my  collection  where  they  now  hang.  If  I 
was  right  in  my  supposition  that  they  were  worn  by 
his  highness  the  year  before,  their  number  of  points 
told  his  age  to  be  twelve.  My  son  and  his  guide  had 
succeeded  in  getting  a  glimpse  of  him,  some  two  weeks 
before  ;  and  I,  after  six  days  of  watching  and  stalking, 
sitting  and  standing  and  lying  down,  also  got  a 
glimpse. 

But  it  was  a  stingy  one.  In  stepping  through  the 
bog  I  had  carelessly  broken  a  twig  with  my  foot. 
Then  I  heard  a  snort  away  off  to  my  right,  and  look- 
ing in  that  direction  I  saw  a  cow  bounding  away  with 
the  gentleman  I  was  after  in  front  of  her.  I  recog- 
nized the  big  fellow  as  he  passed  between  two  trees, 
and  that  was  all. 

I  have  heard  of  a  negro  melody  entitled  "  Hesitate, 
Mr.  Nigger,  Hesitate ! "  and  possibly  his  imperial 
highness  had  heard  of  it,  too.  A  dozen  times  or  more 
had  my  ears  been  tickled  with  the  racket  he  made  in 
rushing  through  the  growth  of  spruce  that  borders 
the  bog,  and  striking  his  antlers  against  the  trees.  Yet 
he  wouldn't  step  out  into  the  open  and  show  himself. 
When  it  seemed  certain  that  he  was  about  to  do  so,  he 
would  hesitate,  as  if  he  were  listening  to  the  darky 
melody  and  deemed  it  provident  to  follow  its  advice. 
He  was  wise.  "  Hesitate,  Mr.  Nigger "  succeeded  in 


94  SPORT   INDEED 

saving  his  lordship's  bacon — at  least  for  a  while,  for  I 
decided  to  give  the  bog  a  rest  for  a  few  days  and 
move  to  another  camp  about  eight  miles  away. 

My  week  upon  this  bog  that  I  left  was  one  of  the 
happiest  I  ever  spent  in  hunting.  Two  days  of  it  I 
was  in  my  shirt-sleeves,  two  days  with  a  vest  on,  and 
two  with  a  coat.  This  tells  the  story  of  the  weather 
— it  was  fine.  The  distance  from  the  camp  was  a 
little  short  of  two  miles,  and,  as  I  took  the  tramp 
morning,  noon  and  evening,  it  made  about  twelve 
miles  of  steady  walking. 

The  bog  is  a  "  dry  bog,"  its  dryness  being  readily 
accounted  for.  The  spaces  between  the  trees  are  filled 
with  a  wanton  growth  of  blueberry  bushes,  whose  de- 
caying leaves,  year  after  year,  have  helped  to  raise  the 
surface  of  the  ground  so  that  no  water  rests  upon  it. 

The  place  teems  with  all  manner  of  life,  except  the 
human  variety.  The  fox  hunts  his  breakfast  there, 
and  the  bear  dines  and  sups  sumptuously  on  its  ripe 
blueberries.  It  is  the  home  of  the  red  squirrel,  the 
mole  and  the  field-mouse,  and  they  may  be  seen  dart- 
ing hither  and  yon,  busily  employed  in  getting  their 
living  among  the  medley  of  vegetable  growth. 

Here,  in  this  garden  spot,  I  would  sit  by  the  hour, 
secluded  from  the  world  and  forgetful  of  its  cares  and 
perplexities ;  resting  both  mind  and  body,  and  with  a 
species  of  rest  unknown  to  the  busy  city  man — and 
which,  by  the  way,  he  will  never  know,  unless  he 


A  CARIBOU  HUNT  95 

will  occasionally  drop  his  treadmill  work  and  try  it. 

Doubtless  there  are  some  who  will  think  me  insane 
to  call  the  seclusion  of  a  bog  restful,  or  to  recommend 
such  an  occupation  as  caribou  hunting  as  a  sovereign 
remedy  for  the  ills  of  the  body  and  soul.  Or  they 
may  consider  it  the  essence  of  absurdity  to  spend  a 
whole  week  in  tramping  over  bogs  in  search  of  that 
animal,  and  then,  like  a  hermit,  solitary  and  alone,  to 
sit  down  on  a  log,  and  meditate. 

Alone,  my  friend  ?  You  make  a  mistake.  I  was 
not  alone.  It  must  be  a  man  of  little  soul  and  less 
sentiment  who  thinks  himself  alone  when  he  has 
Nature  at  his  elbow.  And  she  was  at  mine,  opening, 
as  it  were,  a  drama  before  me,  and  for  my  express  edi- 
fication. I  looked  upon  it  and  wondered  at  the  sight ; 
wondered  at  the  wealth  of  her  life — her  plant  life,  and 
her  strange  animal  life,  whose  strangeness  is  so  no- 
tably marked  in  her  caribou.  Alone  my  friend  ?  No. 
It  is  true  I  was  the  only  mortal  among  her  audience — 
the  only  human  "  looker  on  in  Vienna  "  ;  and  I  will  say 
that  no  stage  representation  ever  enchained  my  at- 
tention so  tightly  or  afforded  me  more  food  for 
thought  and  study.  Alone  ?  Oh,  no  !  These  "  goodly 
creatures  "  of  the  bog  were  to  me  more  genial  com- 
pany than  would  have  been  that  of  men  and  women, 
with  nerves  and  temper  and  energy  and  strength  jaded 
and  worn  by  the  fantastic  fads  and  customs  of  civilized 
life.  No,  reader ;  I  was  not  alone. 


A  Lost  Moose 

Sheathe  thy  impatience. 

— MERKY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 

OUT  in  the  Maine  wilderness  and  some  eight  miles 
from  where  we  had  located  our  cabin  is  an  old  logging 
camp  which  is  rapidly  tumbling  to  the  ground.  In 
the  days  of  its  prime  it  had  housed  nearly  sixty  men, 
but  now  it  is  merely  a  harbor  for  hedgehogs  and 
legions  of  field-mice.  The  portion  of  the  structure 
which  was  used  for  sleeping  berths  is  stripped  of  the 
roof,  every  passing  guide  and  hunter  taking  a  share  of 
the  cedar  splits  to  build  a  fire  or  sheathe  his  little 
cabin.  The  ends  and  sides  of  the  building  still  stand, 
but  they  are  all  that  remain  to  give  one  an  inkling  of 
its  former  glory. 

Within  its  walls  the  weary  choppers,  drivers  and 
sawyers  were  used  to  take  their  rest,  smoke  their  pipes, 
tell  their  yarns,  sing  songs,  and  dry  their  wet  clothes. 
The  shanty,  when  I  saw  it  last,  was  damp  and  mouldy, 
and  smelt  very  loudly  of  rotten  wood,  old  clothes  and 
dilapidated  rubber  boots.  A  collection  of  empty 
medicine  bottles  and  salve  boxes  had  been  left  in  the 
bunks,  telling  most  plainly  that  the  lumbermen  had 
not  escaped  their  share  of  the  pains  and  aches  and 

96 


A  LOST  MOOSE  97 

bruises  and  inflammations  that  the  rest  of  the  world  is 
heir  to. 

A  party  of  gum-pickers  were  the  last  occupants,  and 
to  keep  out  the  rain  and  make  the  place  tolerably  hab- 
itable they  had  patched  up  a  corner  of  the  roof. 
Under  this  portion  they  built  a  couple  of  bunks  in 
which  they  slept  at  night  and  sometimes  rested  during 
the  day  when  wearied  by  their  toilsome  work.  A 
rude  table  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  in  its 
decaying  wood  the  gum-pickers  had  cut  their  names 
and  told  their  occupation.  The  latter  was  hardly 
necessary,  as  the  quantity  of  worthless  gum  scattered 
upon  the  floor  should  have  saved  them  that  trouble. 
The  road  that  passed  by  the  lumber  camp  was  much 
traveled  by  a  pair  of  moose,  and  runs  near  a  bog 
where  I  oftentimes  found  caribou.  Now  it  struck  me 
that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  spend  a  night  or  two 
in  this  camp,  first  fixing  up  a  place  on  the  front  part 
where  I  could  sit  at  night  and  watch  for  passing  game. 
My  mind  was  really  bent  on  getting  a  shot  at  the 
moose  whose  footprints  showed  his  daily  wanderings 
up  and  down  the  road  and  to  the  stream,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  feeding  along  its  banks  at  night.  I  said  to 
myself  "  "What  an  easy  thing  it  will  be  to  sit  at  the 
opening  in  the  front  of  the  camp,  and  when  these  big 
fellows  come  along,  put  out  the  muzzle  of  my  rifle  and 
bang  away."  Of  course  my  plan  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  cow-moose,  only  the  bull ;  and  he  must  be  a 


98  SPORT   INDEED 

big  one  at  that.  But  alas  for  my  program,  and  for 
all  human  speculations  when  a  bull-moose  is  at  the 
bottom  of  them ! 

I  directed  one  of  the  guides  to  carry  up  my  bed- 
ding, a  few  slices  of  deer  meat,  some  bread  and  a  large 
onion ;  this  he  did  and  then  left  me  to  my  cogita- 
tions. These  were  full  of  the  moose  and  caribou,  and 
spiced  with  the  thought  that,  like  Selkirk,  I  was 
"  monarch  of  all  I  surveyed." 

I  spent  the  afternoon  on  the  bog,  my  heart  swelling 
with  a  hunter's  hope  and  pumping  its  valves  so 
fiercely  that  a  caribou  might  have  heard  the  throb- 
bings  had  he  been  near  enough.  But  he  was  too 
wary  to  venture  so  close.  It  is  true  there  were  many 
of  them  in  the  bog,  and  they  came  near  enough  to  get 
a  scent  of  me ;  but  when  they  got  it,  it  seemed  to  be 
all  they  wanted,  for  their  stay  on  or  around  that  bog 
was  cut  off  very  short.  In  a  word,  they  skipped  away 
without  my  getting  even  a  glimpse  of  them. 

As  I  was  stealthily  picking  my  way  back  again, 
however,  a  cow-moose  dodged  through  the  trees  in 
front  of  me.  I  stopped  for  several  minutes  and  then 
crept  forward  a  few  feet  until  a  new  vista  opened  up 
in  the  spruces.  I  looked  and  listened  for  sounds  of 
any  kind,  but  heard  none.  Presently  a  noise  came 
from  what  appeared  at  first  to  be  a  forked  branch 
away  off  to  my  right,  and  I  finally  made  out  that  it 
was  a  cow-moose.  I  thought  she  might  have  her 


A  LOST  MOOSE  99 

beau  with  her,  and  therefore  kept  perfectly  still  so  as 
not  to  alarm  either  of  them.  If  the  bull  wasn't  with 
her  he  might  be  somewhere  within  her  call  and  per- 
haps would  join  her. 

It  was  half-past  three  in  the  afternoon  when  her 
form  was  first  fully  outlined.  I  stood  motionless  and 
she  did  the  same — save  once  in  a  while  her  great  ears 
would  be  moved  a  little  to  catch  any  strange  sounds. 
The  seconds  ran  into  minutes,  the  minutes  into  nearly 
an  hour,  yet  there  she  stood  and  in  the  same  pose.  It 
was  now  so  dark  that  her  head,  ears  and  shoulders 
formed  simply  a  dark,  undefined  spot.  I  was  com- 
pletely fagged  out  and  stole  softly  away.  As  I  left 
her,  she  showed  no  movement  of  a  muscle,  and  for 
aught  I  know,  she  may  be  standing  there  yet. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  I  hurried  back  to  mount  my 
point  of  observation  because  I  felt  sure  that  the  pair 
of  "  wanderers  "  I  was  after  would  pass  my  way  early 
in  the  evening.  The  guide  had  fixed  up  a  sort  of  a 
platform  by  laying  a  door  across  two  boxes  on  top  of 
the  sleeping  bunks,  and  this  would  bring  my  shoulders 
upon  a  level  with  the  sill  of  the  square  window  in 
the  gable.  Mounting  the  platform,  I  sat  down  to 
await  events.  They  were  not  long  in  coming.  I 
soon  heard  the  sounds  of  heavy  "  breaking  "  down  the 
road,  intermingled  with  the  tender  tones  that  char- 
acterize moose  courtship.  I  now  moved  a  little,  to 
bring  my  left  shoulder  clear  of  the  opening,  and 


ioo  SPORT   INDEED 

cocked  my  rifle.  The  click  of  the  cocking  was  not 
loud  but  it  stopped  the  advancing  pair  of  moose  lovers 
as  if  they  had  run  up  against  a  stone  wall.  They 
stood  there  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then  wheeled 
about,  started  for  the  woods,  and  got  away.  This 
was  my  last  moose  experience,  so  far  as  they  were 
concerned,  and  it  taught  me  a  lesson.  Had  I  but 
waited  until  they  were  directly  in  front  of  me,  one 
good  shot  and  that  bull  lover  of  hers  would  have  been 
"  settled  for  life." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  my  pride  was  sadly  bruised 
by  the  result  of  my  impatience.  Every  hunter,  as 
you  may  surmise,  is  blessed  with  plenty  of  pride,  and 
it  is  so  thin-skinned  and  so  easily  bruised  that  if  a 
moose  should  escape  him  without,  at  least,  a  damaged 
limb  he  never  forgets  his  faux-pas  nor  forgives  him- 
self. Therefore,  ye  sports,  I  will  hatch  a  precept  for 
the  use  of  him  who  may  need  it, — and  it  would  be 
well  for  him  to  paste  it  in  his  hat : — "  Sheathe  thy 
impatience"  and  you'll  miss  a  multitude  of  disap- 
pointments. 


The  Big  Moose  of  Little  Tobique 

A  couquest  for  a  prince  to  boast  of. 

— HENRY  IV. 

BOASTING  is  the  badge  of  the  fool.  No  dyed-in- 
the-wool  sportsman  will  use  it,  for  he  knows  too  well 
that  his  exploits  are  not  due  solely  to  his  skill.  It  is 
true  that  the  writer  succeeded,  where  other  ambitious 
"  sports  "  had  failed,  in  capturing  the  "  Big  Moose  of 
Little  Tobique,"  but  this  was  not  because  they  had 
been  less  expert,  but  for  the  reason  that  he  had  more 
luck  and  perseverance.  Luck  is  a  potent  factor  in 
the  hunter's  success,  and  none  knows  the  fact  better 
than  himself. 

And  now,  in  the  words  of  the  crook-back  Richard, 
"  I  will  retail  my  conquest  won  "  and  as  briefly  as  its 
attending  incidents  will  permit. 

The  Tobique  River  flows  into  the  St.  Johns  River 
about  a  hundred  miles  from  the  mouth  of  the  latter  at 
the  city  of  St.  Johns,  New  Brunswick,  Canada.  The 
Tobique  has  four  branches  and  these  unite  at  "  The 
Forks,"  sixty  miles  from  its  mouth,  and  are  named  the 
"Serpentine,"  the  "Sisson,"  the  "Right-hand  branch" 
and  the  "Left-hand  branch"  or  "Little  Tobique." 

The  latter  rises  in  the  two  Nictau  Lakes  and  these  get 

101 


102  SPORT    INDEED 

their  life  from  a  great  spring  at  the  base  of  Bald 
Mountain — the  tallest,  broadest  and  longest  in  the 
Province,  being  2,700  feet  high,  five  miles  long,  three 
broad,  and  surmounted  by  an  almost  level  plateau. 
The  spring  bubbles  up  volumes  of  water,  so  cold  that 
a  hand  placed  in  its  gush  soon  becomes  numbed ;  and 
so  clear  that  the  trout  can  be  seen  darting  and  turn- 
ing up  their  speckled  sides  at  the  bottom. 

Whence  comes  the  supply  for  this  inexhaustible 
spring  ?  Probably  the  rainfall  on  the  broad  surface 
of  the  Bald's  top,  instead  of  running  off  in  streams, 
filters  through  the  mass  of  earth  and  rock,  to  feed  a 
subterranean  reservoir,  whence  through  some  syphonic 
power  it  is  forced  up  to  the  base  of  the  mountain. 

For  thirty-two  miles  along  the  river  above  the 
Forks,  the  country  is  almost  a  virgin  wilderness. 
The  chopper's  axe  has  not  as  yet  invaded  the  Nictau 
Lake  region ;  and  its  broad  stretches  of  land  give  the 
moose  and  the  caribou  all  the  food  they  require  and 
the  seclusion  they  covet.  The  lakes  themselves  and 
the  "  dead-waters  "  on  the  small  streams  are  fringed 
with  lily-pads  and  other  aquatic  growths  that  please 
the  palates  of  these  strange  animals.  Here  they  may 
nibble  their  breakfast,  and  drink,  and  attend  to  their 
courtship,  secluded  and  undisturbed  —  unless  some 
"  Peeping  Tom,"  in  the  shape  of  a  hunter,  should  up- 
set their  program.  And  he  often  does. 

During   the   open  season,  September  15th  to  De- 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE    103 

ceraber  31st,  hunters  of  all  stripes  and  from  almost 
every  civilized  nation  resort  to  this  region  and  with 
one  purpose — to  kill  a  bull-moose  or  a  bull-caribou. 
But  all  are  not  successful.  If  they  were,  the  pride  of 
the  expert  would  soon  lead  his  sporting  into  a  more 
uncertain  channel.  Uncertainty  is  the  charm  that 
captivates  the  hunter,  and  he  finds  all  he  wants  of  it 
in  the  chase  of  the  moose  and  caribou.  If  he  suc- 
ceeds, he  considers  himself  lucky.  If  he  fails  in 
securing  his  antlered  trophy,  he  swallows  his  disap- 
pointment, and  without  the  sauce  of  excuse.  Mind 
you,  I  speak  now  of  the  expert  hunter.  From  the  lips 
of  the  other  sort  excuses  will  fall  "  thick  as  autumnal 
leaves  that  strew  the  brooks  in  Yallombrosa."  By 
the  way,  this  quotation  from  Milton  is  not  a  happy 
one,  for  the  blind  poet  seems  to  have  "  put  his  foot  in 
it "  when  he  created  the  simile.  The  forests  of  Yal- 
lombrosa are  made  up  of  pines  whose  foliage  is  not 
deciduous ;  therefore  the  brooks  can  never  be  strewn 
with  thick  autumnal  leaves. 

To  return  to  my  story.  I  arrived  at  "  The  Forks  " 
on  September  19th,  and  here  my  guide  and  cook  met 
me.  They  said  my  son  was  camped  some  five  miles 
away  from  the  river  and  near  two  little  mud  lakes. 
On  the  margin  of  one  the}7  saw  the  tracks  of  a  moose, 
and  from  their  great  size  were  convinced  that  none 
other  than  the  Big  Moose  of  Little  Tobique  could  have 
made  them. 


104  SPORT   INDEED 

We  had  some  eight  miles  to  paddle  up  the  river  be- 
fore reaching  the  road  that  led  to  the  camp,  and  dur- 
ing the  trip  the  "  big  fellow  "  was  the  main,  topic  of 
our  talk.  The  guide  described  his  enormous  tracks, 
and  told  of  the  many  places  where  they  were  seen. 
There  could  be  no  mistake,  for  the  foot  of  no  ordinary 
moose  would  fit  them.  The  shores  of  many  lakes,  the 
dead-waters  and  the  soft  places  in  old  roads  all  bore 
evidence  that  he  must  have  been  a  great  stroller,  a 
tramp,  the  "Weary  Willie"  of  his  tribe.  All  this 
tramping  was,  of  course,  done  in  his  search  of  some 
fair  one  that  would  listen  to  his  tale  of  love.  Whether 
he  found  her  or  whether  the  "  fair  ones  "  all  preferred 
the  fate  of  a  young  bull's  slave  to  that  of  an  old  one's 
darling  is  a  question  whose  answer  I  will  leave  to 
zoological  wise-heads. 

On  the  river  we  met  my  son  and  his  guide.  The 
former  had  killed  a  couple  of  bears  a  few  hours  be- 
fore, and  was  full  of  bear-talk  rather  than  moose-talk. 
But  he  did  take  time  to  corroborate  all  the  marvelous 
stories  of  the  "  big  fellow  "  and  his  tracks.  On  our 
way  we  passed  a  lake,  reported  to  be  one  of  his 
haunts,  and  we  stopped  to  look  for  a  trace  of  him. 
Tracks  we  found  indeed,  but  I  thought  they  were  not 
made  by  the  fellow  we  were  after.  They  seemed  too 
long  and  the  hoofs  spread  too  far  apart.  Moreover, 
the  animal's  dew-claws  had  made  a  plain  impression  in 
the  mud,  therefore  I  presumed  it  to  be  the  footprint  of 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE    105 

a  giant  caribou.  Unlike  the  moose's,  the  caribou's  dew- 
claws  are  almost  on  a  level  with  his  hoof,  and  com- 
bined with  the  wide  opening  of  the  latter  they  enable 
him  to  travel  over  the  snow  as  glibly  and  tirelessly  as 
if  shod  with  snow-shoes.  The  hunter  may,  and  often 
does,  run  down  the  moose  in  the  snow,  but  if  he  at- 
tempts it  with  the  caribou — well,  in  the  pithy  vernac- 
ular of  the  street  Arab,  he  will  bite  off  considerably 
"  more  than  he  can  chaw." 

As  we  reached  camp  the  sky  overclouded  and  the 
rain  began  to  fall,  and  for  four  days  and  as  many 
nights  it  kept  on  falling.  I  can  assure  the  reader  that 
when  it  does  rain  in  this  "  blue-nosed  "  region  it  makes 
a  business  of  it  and  does  nothing  else.  I  say  Uue- 
nosed,  for  'twould  be  hard  to  find  a  New  Brunswick 
man  with  a  nose  of  any  other  color.  Funny  ?  Not  at 
all.  The  nose,  as  every  one  knows  who  has  a  nose,  is 
the  most  sensitive  of  all  meteorologic  instruments.  It 
is  the  "poor  man's  weather-glass"  and  'twould  be 
funny  indeed  if  the  uninterrupted  cold  rains  and  chilly 
fogs  didn't  have  the  effect  of  changing  the  color  of 
its  tip. 

During  the  four  days  of  rain  the  growth  of  fungi, 
edible  and  inedible,  was  wonderful.  Mushrooms 
galore,  of  all  shapes,  sizes  and  colors  sprang  through 
the  earth's  crust  and  so  hurriedly  that  a  poet  might 
imagine  they  had  been  roused  from  their  embryonic 
nap  by  the  wand  of  a  magician  and  were  fearful  of 


io6  SPORT   INDEED 

being  late  to  breakfast.  However,  I  am  no  mushroom 
crank.  My  acquaintance  with  the  Basideomyces  tribe 
is  slim — much  too  slim  to  risk  my  stomach's  welfare 
in  their  keeping.  In  other  words,  I  am  always  in 
doubt  whether  Innocence  or  Death  lies  hidden  under 
their  kid-like  caps. 

But  wet  weather  and  mushrooms  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  "  Big  Moose,"  and  so  we'll  get  back  on 
his  track.  On  our  first  afternoon  in  camp  my  guide 
made  the  birch-bark  horn  with  which  he  hoped  to  lure 
the  old  fellow  within  rifle-reach.  Accoutred  with  this, 
together  with  rubber  blankets,  a  lantern  and  a  rifle, 
we  started  for  the  lake,  reaching  it  a  few  minutes 
before  the  daylight  vanished  into  night — and  the 
blackest  one  within  my  memory.  We  called  and 
listened  and  strained  our  eyeballs  trying  to  peer 
through  the  dense  pall  that  hung  around  us.  A  pair 
of  moose  did  come  to  the  water  and — as  their  foot- 
prints indicated  next  day — came  very  near  us.  But 
we  didn't  see  them,  and  probably  would  not  have  seen 
them  had  they  stepped  over  us.  However,  we  knew 
they  were  there,  and  fearing  they  would  get  on  our 
scent  if  we  stayed  through  the  night,  at  ten  o'clock 
we  groped  our  way  back  to  camp.  Next  morning  at 
four  o'clock  we  started  again  for  the  lake.  The  walk 
was  not  a  pleasant  one  for  the  rain  was  still  splashing 
the  road  and  dripping  from  the  trees.  At  a  quarter  to 
five  we  reached  our  "  sanctuary  "  of  the  night  before, 


u 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE  109 

but  were  too  late.  The  two  moose-lovers  had  de- 
parted in  search  of  "  woods  and  pastures  new."  How- 
ever, they  left  their  tracks  behind.  One  was  a  young 
cow-moose  ;  the  other  a  bull  of  ordinary  size,  and  we 
wanted  neither  of  them.  Our  heart  was  fixed  on  big 
"Weary  "Willie"  and  he  had  not  been  in  their 
company. 

The  following  night  we  changed  our  position  to  a 
clump  of  cedars  that  stood  on  a  point  jutting  out  into 
the  lake.  During  the  day  I  had  walked  twelve  miles 
to  reach  an  old  beaver  pond  and  meadow,  said  to  be  a 
haunt  of  the  caribou,  and  during  my  absence  the 
guide  had  "  swamped  out "  a  path  from  the  road  to 
the  cedar  point  above  mentioned.  This  enabled  us  to 
reach  or  retire  from  it  silently — an  impossibility  by 
the  old  way,  as  it  led  through  a  cedar  swamp  full  of 
dead  branches  and  rotting  wood. 

About  four  o'clock  the  guide,  who  was  alone,  heard 
a  branch  crack  on  the  edge  of  the  lake,  and  turning 
his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  got  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  big  fellow  upon  whose  capture  we  were 
so  eagerly  bent.  The  man  had  no  rifle  with  him, 
nothing  but  his  axe,  which  he  laid  noiselessly  down 
and  crept  back  to  the  camp,  where  he  awaited  my  re- 
turn. "When  I  did  get  back,  we  started  at  once  for 
the  cedar  point,  and  during  our  walk,  he  edified  me 
with  a  glowing  description  of  the  Big  Moose-tramp, 
his  marvelous  size,  his  dignified  walk,  his  shape,  etc. 


no  SPORT   INDEED 

We  reached  our  hiding-place  at  the  point  only  to  find 
that  "Willie"  had  left  for  parts  unknown.  The 
guide  tried  his  birch-bark  horn,  but  the  dying  echoes 
of  its  notes  were  the  only  reward  for  his  trouble. 
Once  we  fancied  that  the  big  fellow  was  listening  in 
the  fringe  of  the  woods  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake, 
and  when  we  heard  the  sound  of  antlers  striking 
against  the  branches,  we  were  sure  of  it.  But  alas 
for  the  certainty  of  a  hunter's  calculations  !  Antlers 
they  were,  but  not  the  antlers  we  were  after.  They 
belonged  to  one  of  the  lovers  that  came  so  near  step- 
ping over  us  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  before. 
After  we  discovered  this,  we  left  them  to  their  billing 
and  cooing  and  returned  to  camp. 

The  next  morning  we  rose  at  half-past  three.  It 
was  still  raining,  and  after  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  biscuit 
we  tramped  once  more  to  the  lake.  The  moose-lovers 
were  not  in  sight,  but  we  could  hear  them  as  they 
walked  leisurely  up  the  slope  of  the  ridge  in  front  of 
us.  My  son  had  seen  this  same  couple  a  few  days 
previous  and  described  them  to  me.  "  The  bull,"  he 
said,  "  has  the  queerest  head  I  ever  saw.  The  antlers 
shoot  straight  up  like  two  half-opened  fans  standing 
on  end  and  showing  their  flat  sides  to  the  front.  The 
lady-moose  is  very  tall,  graceful  and  sleek-looking  and 
seemingly  without  a  spark  of  timidity." 

I  had  spent  the  better  part  of  a  day — Friday — in 
tramping  over  a  ridge  and  visiting  another  pond. 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE   1 1 1 

The  tramp  covered  perhaps  twenty  miles,  and  when 
again  I  reached  our  clump  of  cedars,  tired  nature 
cried  for  a  rest.  As  our  plan  was  to  lie  out  all  night, 
we  had  brought  blankets  with  us,  also  a  steamer  rug, 
but  had  left  the  latter  under  the  butt  of  a  fallen  tree 
further  down  the  lake.  After  the  guide  had  cut  a 
few  spruce  boughs  to  make  a  mattress,  I  sent  him 
back  for  the  rug  and  then  threw  my  tired  limbs  upon 
the  spruce  boughs.  Twenty  minutes  or  more  passed 
and  the  guide  not  returning  I  thought  he  might  have 
seen  a  moose  on  his  way  back  and  feared  he  might 
scare  him  by  returning  in  a  direct  way  to  the  cedars. 
Eaising  myself  slowly  from  the  spruce  boughs,  I 
looked  around  me,  and  felt  convinced  that  I  was  right 
in  my  conjecture.  A  hundred  and  fifty  yards  away, 
and  directly  within  the  line  of  trees  on  the  far  side  of 
the  cove  and  to  my  left,  I  was  sure  I  saw  the  young 
bull  with  the  upright  antlers.  He  stood  "  head  on  " 
with  his  body  shielded  by  the  trees,  leaving  his  head 
and  neck  alone  visible.  To  shoot  or  not  to  shoot  was 
the  question,  and  I  had  to  decide  quickly,  for  the  scant 
daylight  was  fast  melting  away  in  the  coming  night. 
A  moment  of  doubt,  and  then,  after  careful  aim,  I 
fired.  I  looked,  expecting  to  see  the  fellow  drop.  But 
he  didn't  drop.  This  rather  astonished  me,  but  there 
was  more  astonishment  in  store — he  hadn't  moved. 
Putting  in  another  cartridge,  again  I  fired  and  again 
I  looked.  The  upright  antlers  were  still  there  in 


112  SPORT   INDEED 

statu  quo.  "  Thomas,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  is  thee  daft 
or  dreaming  ?  "  The  question  was  not  an  unreason- 
able one  and  to  satisfy  myself  whether  I  was  either 
or  both,  again  I  loaded  up  and  again  banged  away. 
Before  I  had  time  to  note  the  result  of  the  last  shot, 
the  guide  rushed  in  out  of  breath. 

"  What  are  you  shooting  at  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  bull-moose ;  there  he  stands ;  don't  you  see  his 
head  sticking  out  from  behind  that  tree  ?  " 

"With  a  loud  laugh  he  replied,  "  Yes,  I  see  it ;  I  saw 
it  this  morning ;  and  I  would  advise  you  to  waste  no 
more  of  your  cartridges  on  the  turned-up  root  of  an 
old  cedar  stump." 

A  cedar  stump  1  Shades  of  the  mighty  Nimrod, 
had  it  come  to  this  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that  my 
eyes  could  see  no  difference  'twixt  a  moose's  head  and 
a  cedar  stump  ?  The  guide's  pill  was  a  bitter  one,  yet 
I  swallowed  it,  and  then  asked  him  if  he  had  found 
the  rug.  He  said  no ;  that  he  had  looked  under  the 
butt  of  every  fallen  tree,  but  couldn't  find  it.  "  Well," 
I  said,  "  I  will  go  and  get  the  rug,  and  in  the  mean- 
time you  keep  your  eye  on  that  root  and  tell  me  if  it 
moves."  I  then  left  him  mumbling  something  to  him- 
self about  the  probability  of  a  cedar  stump  moving. 
,  On  my  return,  I  decided  that  he  should  go  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  lake  and  "  call,"  for  if  the  pair  of 
moose  did  come  in  they  would  be  likely  to  visit  the 
cove.  After  he  left,  I  looked  for  the  cedar  root  and  it 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE  1 13 

wasn't  there.  The  stump,  or  whatever  it  was,  had  van- 
ished. Here  was  a  mystery,  and  not  a  pleasant  one 
for  a  sport  to  ponder  on,  especially  if  he  prides  him- 
self on  being  a  tolerably  good  shot.  Again  I  looked 
and  then  rubbed  my  eyes  in  wonder.  The  stump  was 
back  again  and  in  the  identical  spot  it  had  occupied 
before. 

Just  at  this  moment  I  heard  the  guide  give  a  "  call " 
on  his  birch-bark  horn.  ISTo  echo  followed  it,  for  the 
woods  were  still  soaking  wet ;  but  it  sounded  very  like 
the  plaintive  call  of  a  disconsolate  lady-moose,  and  its 
effect  upon  the  antlers  of  my  cedar  stump  was  mag- 
ical. They  dropped  at  once  out  of  sight  and  in  a 
second  or  two  reappeared.  The  mystery  was  solved. 
It  was  a  moose  indeed,  but  only  a  cow-moose.  She 
had  been  standing  like  a  statue,  and  what  I  thought 
were  antlers  were  only  her  big  ears  which,  standing 
straight  up  and  thrown  forward,  really  looked  like  the 
pair  of  antlers  my  son  had  described. 

The  reason  why  my  three  shots  had  missed  her 
was  plain  enough.  She  had  been  standing  between 
two  trees,  with  her  head  turned  towards  me  almost  at 
right  angles  with  her  body,  and  the  bullets  had  all 
entered  the  intercepting  tree  which,  in  the  uncertain 
light,  I  had  mistaken  for  the  foreshoulder  of  a  moose. 
At  the  sound  of  the  birch-bark  horn  she  changed  the 
position  of  her  ears,  and  then  I  had  no  doubt  of  her 
sex.  Nor  was  her  gentleman  attendant  far  away. 


114  SPORT   INDEED 

The  male-moose,  though  always  watchful  over  his 
mistress,  is  very  careful  to  keep  in  the  background 
if  he  scents  danger  in  air.  He  heard  the  guide's 
call,  and,  as  he  moved  up  and  down  behind  the  shelter 
of  the  trees,  gave  his  answer.  It  was  not  a  loud  one, 
but  it  was  loud  enough  to  reach  the  ear  of  his  frau, 
and  affectionate  enough  to  arouse  her  jealousy.  A 
moose-wife  is  very  like  the  human-wife  in  her  notions  of 
conjugal  propriety,  and  has  as  little  toleration  for  her 
husband's  flirtations ;  therefore,  as  soon  as  she  heard 
him  answer  the  guide's  loving  call  she  began  to  scold, 
and  in  a  manner  that  told  him  he  must  stop  that  sort 
of  thing  or  she  would  know  the  reason  why.  I  had 
instructed  the  guide  to  call  not  oftener  than  once  in 
fifteen  minutes,  and  this  intermission  gave  the  bull 
time  to  quiet  down.  But  her  ladyship  still  stood  there, 
scolding  away  with  all  the  vim  of  an  Irish  washer- 
woman, when  the  horn  sounded  the  second  time. 
Again  the  unfaithful  partner  of  her  bosom  began  to 
strut  about  behind  the  cedars,  breaking  the  branches 
with  his  feet  and  hitting  them  with  his  antlers. 

At  this  moment  a  far-away  bark — or  rather  a  half- 
bark  and  a  half-grunt — struck  our  ear.  It  was  another 
bull-moose  answering  the  call  and  his  answer  was  bold 
and  clear.  The  "  unfaithful  hubby  "  that  had  been 
strutting  so  proudly  heard  it  too,  and  the  effect  on  him 
was  curious.  He  stopped  his  strutting  instantly  and 
became  as  quiet  as  a  lamb. 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE  1 15 

Again  came  the  far-off  bark,  but  this  time  much 
nearer  than  before.  The  guide  answered  it  with  a 
low,  plaintive  call  intended  to  indicate  that  her  coun- 
terfeit cow  ship  was  extremely  delighted  to  have  her 
K.  S.  V.  P.  answered  so  promptly. 

The  birch-bark  horn  was  now  laid  aside,  for  the  bull 
was  coming  with  mighty  strides,  breaking  the  branches 
under  his  feet  and  crashing  his  antlers  against  the 
trees.  In  the  meanwhile  the  lady-moose  on  my  left 
had  stepped  out  into  the  water.  Though  I  did  not  see 
her,  I  could  hear  her  drinking,  and  also  heard  her  mate 
wade  in,  splashing  the  water  around  him.  But  the 
other  chap  we  were  so  eagerly  waiting  for  was  quiet. 
Not  a  sound  came  from  his  direction.  He  was  either 
stealing  down  to  the  water  on  tiptoe  or  standing  still 
and  listening.  And  thus  the  minutes  passed.  The 
pair  of  moose-lovers  had  drunk  their  fill,  and  now  we 
heard  them  in  the  darkness  nibbling  at  the  lily-pads. 

To  the  right  of  where  I  was  lying,  and  perhaps 
fifteen  feet  away,  was  another  piece  of  ground  with 
a  wet,  sticky  bottom  of  gray  clay,  and  in  this  I  first 
saw  the  footprints  of  the  Big  Moose  of  Little  Tobique. 
Turning  myself  to  the  moose-lovers  on  the  left  and 
looking  towards  the  right,  I  saw  the  flash  of  a  light. 
My  first  thought  was  that  the  guide  had  struck  a 
match  to  light  his  path  toward  me.  But  quickly  as 
the  flash  came,  just  as  quickly  did  it  disappear.  I 
laid  for  a  moment  puzzled,  and  then  saw  what  puz- 


ii6  SPORT   INDEED 

zled  me  still  more — a  star  peeking  through  the  trees 
and  close  to  the  earth.  While  I  was  wondering  what 
business  a  star  had  there  when  there  was  none  over- 
head, it  suddenly  flickered  out.  In  the  fraction  of  a 
second  a  double  star  took  its  place.  My  comprehen- 
sion at  last  was  master  of  the  situation.  The  light  of 
the  match,  the  star  and  the  double  star  were  one  and 
the  same — phosphorescent  gleams  from  the  eyes  of 
the  big  moose.  He  had  crept  stealthily  down  to  the 
water  and  was  now  close  to  me — so  close  that  his 
breathing — and  he  had  no  "  bellows  to  mend  " — was 
plainly  audible.  I  was  lying  behind  a  log  and  at  one 
time  fancied  he  might  take  a  notion  to  step  over  it, 
and  drive  me  into  the  earth  with  those  big  feet  of 
his.  But  he  didn't.  I  had  my  electric  lamp  with  me 
and  turned  its  rays  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  of  me, 
then  to  my  head  and  to  my  feet ;  yet  I  saw  nothing 
around  me  but  the  ghostly,  cedar  branches.  How- 
ever, the  three  moose  must  have  seen  the  illumina- 
tion, and  yet  strange  to  say,  it  didn't  startle  them. 
Just  then  I  heard  a  whistle  out  on  the  road.  It 
mocked  the  note  of  a  bird  and  was  a  signal  from  the 
guide  that  the  moose  had  passed  him  on  the  road  to 
the  water.  Ah,  he  little  knew  how  near  I  was  to  the 
big  fellow !  However,  there  was  one  thing  that  I 
knew — it  was  essential  that  I  get  away,  and  get  away 
quickly  lest  some  tale-bearing  zephyr  should  inform 
the  intelligent  noses  of  these  animals  that  a  human 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE  117 

being  was  on  their  track.  And  yet  I  was  afraid  to 
leave  until  the  big  fellow  would  step  into  the  water. 
This  would  show  me  that  his  suspicions  were  lulled. 
Nor  could  I  shoot,  because  I  couldn't  see  him.  Had 
the  guide  been  with  me  he  might  have  handled  the 
electric  lamp  and  its  flash  would  have  been  sufficient 
to  direct  my  aim,  had  I  been  disposed  to  take  advan- 
tage of  it — which  I  would  not  have  done,  for  such  an 
act  would  have  been  unlawful. 

My  hunting  experience  has  often  placed  me  in  situ- 
ations of  intense  excitement  and  anxiety,  but  none  of 
them  contained  as  much  of  either  as  the  present  one. 
I  waited,  it  seemed  to  me,  an  age  for  the  big  fellow 
to  move.  At  last  he  made  one  step  into  the  water, 
and  now  came  my  chance.  Leaving  the  blankets  and 
rug  where  they  lay,  and  pointing  the  glass  bulb  of 
the  electric  lamp  to  the  ground,  I  tiptoed  over  logs 
and  under  branches  and  through  bits  of  water  and 
across  bits  of  corduroy  road,  and  did  it  all  so  gently 
and  quietly  that  none  of  the  creatures  I  had  left  be- 
hind heard  me.  If  they  had  done  so  they  gave  no 
evidence  of  it.  I  was  glad  to  reach  the  road  with  the 
conviction  that  my  moose  companions  were  still  nib- 
bling their  lily-pads  in  peace  and  in  the  unconscious- 
ness of  danger. 

The  guide  assured  me  that  my  friend  the  moose 
could  be  none  other  than  the  Big  Moose  of  Little 
Tobique.  "  I  know  this,"  he  said,  "  by  the  manner  in 


ii8  SPORT    INDEED 

which  he  answered  my  call.  But  I  didn't  know  you 
had  two  others  on  your  string.  I  was  afraid  you  had 
fallen  asleep." 

Asleep  ?  Hardly.  If  five  hours  of  pent-up  anxiety 
and  excitement — five  hours  of  close  companionship 
with  three  moose — if  this  is  not  enough  to  keep  a 
hunter's  eyes  open,  he  must  be  drowsy  indeed.  It 
was  an  experience  I  wouldn't  have  missed  for  the 
price  of  my  vacation ;  an  experience  bulging  with 
events  of  kaleidoscopic  variety.  The  cedar  root — 
the  queer  antlers — my  three  shots — the  first  bull's 
attempted  infidelity — his  scolding  wife — the  lighted 
match — the  phosphorescent  stars  —  the  stentorian 
lungs  of  the  big  bull — the  wait  for  his  step  into  the 
water — the  wait  to  reach  the  road — surely  Queen 
Mab  might  find  enough  material  in  all  this  to  stuff 
my  dreams  for  months  to  come. 

At  three  o'clock  the  following  morning  we  were  up 
and  ready  for  our  parts  in  the  last  act  of  our  moose 
drama.  A  light  breakfast,  and  then  with  our  rifles 
and  electric  lamp  we  trudged  again  through  the  mud, 
the  wet  and  the  pitch-like  darkness.  'Twas  no  wonder 
that  the  mile-and-a-half  to  the  lake  seemed  like  a 
dozen  of  them.  Slowly  and  silently  we  trod,  for  we 
were  certain  the  moose  were  in  the  water,  and  the 
noisy  break  of  a  branch  or  a  stumble  would  have 
ended  our  hope  of  getting  a  crack  at  them.  As  we 
came  nearer  the  cove,  we  listened  and  caught  the 


A  NEW  BRUNSWICK  TOTE-ROAD — THE  AUTHOR  IN  THE  DISTANCE 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIOUE  121 

welcome  sound  of  splashing.  They  were  there  !  But 
now  the  most  difficult  part  of  our  journey  lay  before 
us — the  entrance  to  the  cedar  point,  and  through  the 
cedar  swamp.  There  were  two  paths  ;  one  by  way  of 
the  cove  and  the  other  in  which  we  would  follow  the 
footsteps  of  our  moose  No.  3.  We  took  the  latter, 
thinking  that  all  three  animals  would  likely  be  to- 
gether in  the  cove.  I  led  the  way,  pointing  the  light 
to  the  ground.  The  guide  followed,  both  of  us  tread- 
ing carefully  and  shying  away  from  every  dead  twig. 
We  could  not  have  trod  with  more  circumspection 
had  the  road  been  paved  with  dynamite.  Three  old, 
dead  trees  lay  in  our  path.  They  were  without  bark 
and  so  slippery  with  rain  that  both  of  us  thought  it 
safer  to  get  over  them  on  our  hands  and  knees.  Then 
came  the  soft  strip  of  gray  mud ;  then  a  couple  of 
rotten  and  moss-covered  spruce  logs ;  and  then  the 
clump  of  cedars.  To  get  inside  of  the  dense  cover  of 
the  latter  we  were  again  forced  to  resort  to  our 
hands  and  knees,  and  so  crawled  into  our  lair.  The 
day  had  not  yet  broke  and  the  darkness  was  impene- 
trable. There  was  but  one  thing  to  do — or  rather 
two  things — wait  and  listen.  We  felt  sure  that  if 
the  moose  would  remain. till  dawn  our  victory  was 
certain.  And  thus  in  the  darkness,  waiting  and 
listening,  we  passed  the  anxious  minutes,  hoping  and 
praying  for  the  dawn.  It  came  at  last,  yet  when  it 
did,  and  I  looked  into  the  cove,  my  eyes  as  yet  saw 


122  SPORT    INDEED 

nothing  they  could  shape  into  a  moose.  My  ears, 
however,  were  en-garde,  telling  me  plainly  that  a 
moose,  perhaps  the  big  fellow  himself,  was  at  the 
bottom  of  all  that  wading  and  splashing.  And  then 
my  eyes  began  to  get  their  work  in.  Something,  that 
in  the  glimmer  of  the  breaking  day  they  took  to  be 
the  top  of  a  fallen  tree,  had  changed  its  shape.  'Twas 
not  a  tree  now,  but  a  moose  and  a  monstrous  one. 
Was  it  a  bull  or  a  cow  ?  I  couldn't  tell  for  its  back 
was  toward  me  and  its  head  in  the  water.  But  our 
doubt  was  of  short  duration.  A  few  minutes,  and 
the  great  beast  turned  around  and  started  on  a  walk 
straight  toward  us.  And  now  luck  was  at  my  elbow 
ready  to  do  her  part  in  the  capture  of  the  big  fellow. 
Following  the  line  of  the  shore  he  came  directly 
around  the  cedar  point  where  we  were  waiting  for 
him.  His  appearance  as  he  walked  majestically 
around  the  point  in  the  light  of  the  hazy  morning 
reminded  me  of  the  picture  of  a  "  mammoth "  that 
I  had  seen  in  my  boyhood  days,  painted  upon  the 
side  of  a  building  and  used  by  the  firm  as  their  trade 
mark.  Some  thirty  years  have  passed,  yet  I  haven't 
forgotten  the  "mammoth." 

To  return  to  the  big  fellow.  He  seemed  in  no 
hurry,  but  stepped  along  as  if  time  were  made  for 
slaves  and  not  for  a  bull  of  his  dignity.  He  had 
evidently  eaten  his  fill  and  was  on  his  way  to  some 
favored  spot  where  he  might  rest  and  sleep,  and  so 


BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIOUE  123 

prepare  himself  for  another  night's  flirtation.  But 
alas!  the  best-laid  plans  of  a  moose,  like  those  of 
mice  and  men,  "aft  gang  aglee."  Leisurely  he  ap- 
proached until  he  came  quite  within  range.  Then 
the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  rang  out  on  the  air  and  the 
flirtation  days  of  the  "  Big  Moose  of  Little  Tobique  " 
were  ended  forever.  The  ball  had  pierced  his  heart 
and  he  fell  in  his  tracks  a  few  feet  from  the  shore. 

The  guide  gave  me  a  shake  of  the  hand  and  a  con- 
gratulatory hug,  and  then  jumping  over  the  prostrate 
quarry  tried  to  slew  him  around  so  we  might  pull  him 
out  of  the  water  by  his  hind  feet.  In  this  we  didn't 
succeed.  So  I  told  the  guide  to  go  to  the  camp  and 
bring  the  cook — a  strapping  big  chap — and  also  a 
rope.  Fastening  the  latter  to  one  of  the  moose's  hind 
feet,  we  managed,  after  a  deal  of  pulling  and  twisting 
and  turning,  to  get  our  prize  on  terra  firma.  Then 
we  took  a  good  look  at  his  tremendous  size,  and  the 
sight  of  such  a  mountain  of  moose-flesh  nearly  robbed 
us  of  our  breath. 

Examination  showed  us  that  we  were  not  the  only 
sports  that  had  followed  his  big  heels  with  murderous 
intent,  for  there  was  a  bullet  hole  in  the  left  blade  of 
his  antlers  and  two  buckshot  holes  were  in  the  right. 

His  feet  were  a  study.  Six  and  a  half  inches  from 
toe  to  heel  was  the  measurement  of  the  largest  moose- 
feet  I  had  hitherto  seen,  but  this  fellow's  covered 
eleven  and  three-quarters.  They  were  chipped  and 


124  SPORT    INDEED 

ragged  and  worn  awry  under  the  unnumbered  miles 
of  his  midnight  tramps.  However,  the  chiropodistic 
skill  of  the  taxidermist  has  remedied  all  that.  He 
has  cured  and  polished  them  and  now  they  are  quite 
fit  to  adorn  a  room,  and  quite  able  to  prove  their 
owner's  right  to  his  title  : 

THE  BIG  MOOSE  OF  LITTLE  TOBIQUE. 


The  Lost  Wallet 

Thereby  hangs  a  tale. 

— MEEBY  WIVES  OF  WINDSOR. 

'Tis  a  slippery  world  that  we  live  in — so  slippery, 
indeed,  that  it  often  puzzles  a  man  to  travel  its  glib 
paths  and  keep  on  his  feet.  Nor  are  its  paths  the 
only  slippery  things.  Money,  for  instance,  has  a 
reputation  that  Avay,  and  I,  for  one,  can  vouch  the 
reputation  to  be  deserved. 

By  the  way,  what  is  money?  lago  defined  it  as 
"  trash,"  but  the  oily  rascal's  lexigraphy,  like  his  love 
for  the  Moor,  was  a  little  lop-sided.  The  world's 
definition,  I  think,  hits  nearer  the  mark :  "  Money  is  a 
something  that  no  fellow  can  get  along  without." 
As  Owen  Meredith  once  said — or  rather,  neglected  to 
say: 

We  may  live  without  wisdom,  may  live  without  wit ; 
We  may  live  without  pluck,  or  the  thing  we  call  grit ; 
We  may  live  without  brains — if  we've  plenty  of  gall 
We  may  live  without  using  our  noddle  at  all  ; 
We  may  live  without  sweets,  without  sugar  and  honey, 
But  where  is  the  fellow  can  live  without  money  ? 

No ;  the  man  who  lacks  it  finds  himself  in  what  he 
calls  "  trouble,"  and  his  friends,  though  willing 
enough  to  acknowledge  his  strait,  are  not  always  so 

willing  to  help  him  out  of  it. 

125 


126  SPORT    INDEED 

As  for  the  "gay  sport,"  I  believe  he  is  seldom 
afflicted  in  that  way  ;  although  he  is  thought  to  be,  and 
probably  is,  less  cautious  than  other  people  in  his  care 
of  the  cash.  The  latter  has  a  go-easy  manner  of  get- 
ting away  from  him,  but  he  doesn't  care  a  continental 
how  easy  it  goes,  provided  it  leave  behind  its  quid 
pro  quo  in  the  shape  of  his  enjoyment.  There  may 
be  times,  however,  when  a  little  financial  care  on  his 
part  would  be  advisable.  If,  for  instance,  he  happen 
to  be  in  the  wilds  of  a  forest,  hundreds  of  miles  away 
from  his  bank  account,  and  with  all  his  available 
funds  lying  in  a  wallet  in  his  inside  pocket.  At  such 
a  time  prudence  should  dictate  that  he  keep  his 
mind's  eye  on  the  leathern  receptacle  and  not  let  it 
get  beyond  his  reach — at  least,  without  his  knowledge 
and  consent. 

Now,  to  a  man  who  "  travels  on  his  shape  "  the  ab- 
sence of  a  stuffed  wallet  may  be  of  little  consequence. 
But  "  the  sport  "  is  not  built  that  way.  His  stock  of 
"  shape  "  is  limited,  and  even  if  it  were  not,  his  man- 
hood would  probably  rebel  against  getting  through  the 
world  in  such  a  questionable  manner.  He  is  in  the 
habit  of  paying  for  what  he  gets,  and — I  speak 
feelingly — sometimes  for  what  he  doesn't  get. 

But  to  return  to  my  mutton,  otherwise  my  wallet, 
I  will  relate  how  that  leathern  receptacle  did  get  be- 
yond my  reach  and  without  either  my  knowledge  or 
consent. 


THE   LOST  WALLET  127 

It  was  a  part  of  my  hunting  luck  to  spend  a  couple 
of  nights  in  a  series  of  old  camps,  one  of  which  was 
without  any  roof  and  the  others  with  only  a  bit  of 
one  large  enough  to  cover  a  corner.  I  was  alone,  so 
far  as  the  company  of  mortals  was  concerned,  but  of 
the  other  sort  I  had  plenty.  I  was  surrounded  by 
wild  neighbors  whose  tracks  showed  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  frequenting  the  camp  yard  to  eat  of  the 
grass  that  grew  upon  a  pile  of  camp  refuse  and 
manure,  and  also  to  take  a  lick  or  a  nibble  at  the  old 
salt-pork  barrels  which  lay  bleaching  and  rotting  in 
the  sun  and  rain. 

The  camp  wherein  I  made  my  bunk  was  damp  and 
smelt  as  foul  as  an  old  cellar.  The  rain  had  free  ac- 
cess to  it,  but  the  sun  hadn't,  therefore  it  was  not 
strange  that  the  floor  should  be  dank  and  green  with 
mould.  Old  boots,  and  rubbers  and  discarded  clothes 
were  scattered  profusely  about  acting  like  so  many 
sponges  to  catch  and  hold  the  moisture.  At  night 
when  I  passed  from  one  camp  building  to  the  other  I 
carried  an  electric  lamp.  This  was  imperative  in 
order  that  I  might  not  lose  my  way  or  break  my  neck 
in  winding  through  the  labyrinth  of  empty  butter  and 
nail  kegs,  old  tin  cans,  etc.,  etc. 

During  the  early  part  of  my  first  night  there  I  had 
been  watching  for  a  moose  from  behind  an  opening  in  the 
gable  of  one  of  the  buildings  and  had  taken  my  wallet 
from  the  inside  pocket  of  my  vest.  This  was  a  matter 


128  SPORT    INDEED 

of  precaution,  for,  with  every  breath  I  took,  the  wallet 
would  give  a  creak ;  not  much  of  a  noise,  to  be  sure, 
but  enough  to  catch  the  ear  of  the  moose  I  was  ex- 
pecting to  pass  that  way.  When  the  night  became  so 
dark  that  I  could  no  longer  see,  I  put  the  wallet  in 
the  hip  pocket  of  my  trousers  and  returned  to  the 
other  building  containing  my  bunk.  Then  I  un- 
dressed, crawled  into  my  sleeping  bag,  and  was  soon 
in  the  land  of  oblivion.  About  one  o'clock  I  was 
aroused  by  the  whistling  and  stamping  of  a  deer  close 
to  the  camp.  During  my  nap  the  night  had  grown  so 
very  cold  that  I  reached  for  my  trousers  and  sweater 
and,  putting  them  on,  crawled  again  into  my  sleeping 
bag  and  slept  till  sunrise.  My  sleep,  however,  had 
been  troubled  by  a  dream  in  which  my  wallet  played 
a  conspicuous  part.  Now  I  am  not  posted  in  the  phi- 
losophy of  dreams,  but  those  who  profess  to  be  as- 
sert that  these  mysterious  visions  are  sure  foretellers 
of  coming  events.  In  my  case  the  dream  was  not  out 
of  the  way  regarding  the  loss  of  my  wallet,  but  it 
slipped  up  a  little  on  the  manner  of  the  loss.  I  cer- 
tainly had  no  hole  in  my  trousers'  pocket,  which  the 
dream  said  I  had ;  nor  did  the  wallet  keep  me  busy  in 
picking  it  up  and  replacing  it  a  dozen  times  before  I 
discovered  there  was  a  hole.  But  these  were  trivial 
errors.  Suffice  it  to  say  the  dream  was  vivid  enough 
to  make  me  jump  up,  as  soon  as  my  eyes  opened,  and 
thrust  my  hand  into  my  trousers'  pocket.  There  was 


w 
W 
H 


THE   LOST  WALLET  129 

no  hole  there,  neither  was  there  any  wallet.  There 
could  be  no  more  doubt  about  my  having  put  the  wal- 
let in  that  pocket  the  night  before,  than  there  was  a 
certainty  now  that  it  was  somewhere  else.  But 
where  ?  Could  I  have  dropped  it  on  the  bog  ?  This 
seemed  probable  and  I  started  at  once  on  the  search. 
When  I  tell  the  reader  that  there  was  $135.00  in  it 
for  me,  he  may  not  wonder  that  I  did  my  best  to  suc- 
ceed. It  is  true,  $135.00  is  not  a  fortune,  but  it  is  a 
good  deal  better  than  nothing ;  and  nothing  was  sure 
to  be  the  something  I  would  have  if  I  didn't  find  that 
wallet.  Therefore. eagerly  did  I  search,  following  my 
tracks  of  the  previous  day,  tramping  on  them  back 
and  forth  and  examining  every  place  to  which  they 
led.  But  all  to  no  purpose.  No  wallet  was  to  be 
seen.  Somewhat  out  of  temper  I  returned  to  the 
camp,  took  off  the  spruce  boughs  from  the  bunk,  and 
shook  out  the  blankets  with  the  hope  that  the  wallet 
might  turn  up.  But  it  didn't.  Then  I  went  outside 
and  sat  me  on  a  log,  and  I  will  venture  to  say  that 
there  was  more  solid  thinking  done  on  the  top  of  that 
log  at  that  time  than  will  ever  be  done  there  again. 
At  one  end  of  the  log  there  was  a  soft  piece  of  ground 
in  which  I  saw  tracks  that  looked  to  me  like  those  of 
the  porcupine.  Instantly  my  wits  began  to  work  and 
in  detective  fashion :  "  If  those  are  a  porcupine's  foot- 
prints his  home  is  probably  somewhere  under  this  very 
camp.  If  so,  may  not  my  wallet  have  fallen  from  the 


130  SPORT   INDEED 

bunk  while  I  was  asleep  and  have  been  picked  up  and 
carried  off  by  this  prickly  thief?"  The  thought 
started  me  back  to  the  old  camp  to  examine  the  floor. 
It  was  made  of  long  thin  logs,  the  surfaces  of  which 
were  chopped  off  with  an  axe.  Between  two  of  these 
logs  was  a  space  just  wide  enough  to  allow  the  wallet 
to  drop  through — that  is,  if  it  were  dropped  directly 
over  the  crack.  But  the  logs  were  laid  at  right  angles 
to  the  bunk,  so  that  if  the  wallet  had  fallen  over  the 
side,  it  must  have  reversed  itself  in  order  to  slide  down 
the  narrow  slit.  This  seemed  improbable,  but  not 
enough  so  to  dampen  my  hopes.  I  determined  to  pry 
up  the  logs,  and  with  an  old  axe  that  was  lying  in  the 
corner  I  soon  made  a  wooden  crowbar  for  the  purpose. 
One  of  the  logs  had  a  bend  in  one  end  which  caused 
the  opening  I  have  referred  to.  I  placed  my  bar  un- 
der this  log,  ripped  it  from  its  place,  and  found,  as  I 
had  expected,  that  the  ground  underneath  had  been 
well  furrowed  with  porcupines.  Striking  a  match  I 
looked  down  into  the  hole.  The  dim  light  showed  me 
no  wallet,  and  I  struck  another  match  with  a  like  re- 
sult. Then  I  tried  the  electric  lamp,  and  its  light  en- 
abled me  to  explore  thoroughly  all  the  nooks  and  cran- 
nies of  a  porcupine's  home.  And  there  in  one  of  these 
nooks,  and  totally  unconscious  of  the  anxiety  it  had 
cost  its  owner,  lay  my  green  wallet.  It  was  un- 
harmed, excepting  that  it  had  four  marks  which  it 
bears  to  this  day.  Whether  these  were  made  by  the 


THE   LOST  WALLET  131 

claws  or  teeth  of  my  friend  the  "  fretful  porcupine," 
or  by  some  other  agency,  was  then,  and  is  now,  a  mys- 
tery. But  there  is  another  and  a  deeper  mystery 
which  neither  Time  nor  mortal  ingenuity  is  likely  to 
solve :  how  the  deuce  could  that  wallet  crawl  from 
my  trousers'  pocket,  jump  from  the  bunk,  turn  a  somer- 
sault, and  dive  into  the  household  of  that  porcupine  ? 


A  Close  Call 

Escaped  with  the  skin  of  my  teeth. 

—Jos  19 :  20. 

OF  all  the  things  in  this  world  which  are  not  pic- 
turesque, the  breaking  of  camp  after  a  long  season 
spent  in  the  woods  of  Maine  comes  close  to  being  at 
the  top.  We  had  spent  many  long  and  exciting  days 
in  the  wilds  of  Maine,  and  camp  was  broken  at  six  in 
the  morning.  The  camp  had  been  on  a  high  ledge, 
overlooking  a  circular  sheet  of  water  known  as  Moose 
Pond.  The  latter  is  flanked  by  bogs  on  two  sides,  a 
cove  at  one  side  and  a  stream  that  runs  into  it  from  a 
small  lake  above.  It  was  a  dismal  day,  and  the  three 
guides  looked  glum  when  we  started  to  make  our  way 
out  of  the  pond  and  through  the  cove  into  the  lake  be- 
yond. The  wind  blew  directly  in  our  faces,  and  the 
guides  seemed  to  be  afraid  of  everything.  First  they 
were  afraid  they  could  not  get  the  canoes  around  the 
point,  then  afraid  they  would  have  to  camp  on  the 
shore  of  the  cove — in  fact,  there  was  nothing  they 
were  not  afraid  of.  Finally,  my  son  and  I  told  them 
that  if  they  would  only  put  us  on  the  other  side  of  the 
cove  we  would  lighten  the  canoes  by  walking  the  two 
miles  across  the  point  and  through  the  woods. 

132 


A  CLOSE  CALL  133 

"Well,  we  started,  and,  although  it  rained  buckets  of 
water,  I  rather  enjoyed  the  experience.  We  found 
many  fresh  tracks  of  big  game,  the  windfalls  were 
few,  and  as  the  path  was  deeply  carpeted  with  fresh- 
fallen  leaves  the  walk  was  anything  but  tedious. 

On  leaving  the  forest  the  road  led  through  a  piece 
of  burnt  land.  I  heard  a  cow-bell  jingling  and  soon 
spied  some  cattle  feeding  off  to  the  right,  and,  straight 
in  front  of  me,  were  two  deer.  But  they  had  scented 
me,  and  as  they  threw  their  heels  up  and  bounded 
away,  I  tried  a  shot  at  the  nearest  one,  but — ah,  there's 
that  "  but  "  again  ! — I  missed,  and  the  deer,  in  a  twin- 
kling, were  safe  in  the  timber. 

We  reached  the  lake  and  then  had  a  long  wait  for 
the  canoes.  On  their  arrival  we  found  one  of  them 
had  shipped  a  good  bit  of  water,  and  that  they  all  had 
had  a  narrow  call  from  capsizing.  The  wind  was  in- 
creasing every  minute,  and  as  it  was  necessary  for  us 
to  cross  the  lake  (here  about  a  mile  and  a  half  wide), 
we  put  the  baggage  into  one  canoe,  and,  with  our 
strongest  guide  to  handle  the  stern  paddle  and  me  at 
the  bow  paddle,  while  my  son  squatted  down  in  the 
centre  of  the  canoe,  we  pushed  out  into  the  turbulent 
waters.  The  wind  was  blowing  a  gale  straight  down 
the  lake,  and  strong  enough  to  pick  the  water  from  the 
tops  of  the  white  caps  and  blow  it  around  us  in  the 
shape  of  fine  spray.  Our  course  lay  diagonally  across 
or  up  the  lake  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  and  hardly  had 


134  SPORT    INDEED 

we  gotten  a  hundred  yards  from  shore  before  my  son's 
"sou'wester"  hat  was  knocked  off  by  the  guide's  pad- 
die.  But  that  was  no  place  nor  time  to  stop  for  a  hat. 
The  canoe  mounted  and  rode  the  waves  beautifully, 
and  yet  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  would  cap- 
size it  or  blow  it  out  of  the  water,  particularly  when 
we  reached  the  centre  of  the  lake,  and  the  canoe  was 
turned  obliquely  down  towards  the  other  shore.  Then 
we  had  to  paddle  for  our  very  lives  and  watch  the  waves 
to  see  that  they  didn't  break  over  us.  When  the  light 
canoe  was  going  down  the  sloping  sides  or  in  the  hol- 
low of  a  big  wave,  we  had  to  use  every  pound  of  our 
reserve  strength  to  shove  her  along  before  another 
mountain  of  water  caught  us.  It  was  indeed  a  tick- 
lish trip,  for  had  we  capsized  we  would  have  had  no 
show  whatever  in  the  icy  water,  as  our  heavy  hip  boots 
would  have  prevented  any  chance  of  our  swimming  or 
of  a  rescue.  We  fully  appreciated  the  situation. 
However,  we  got  over  without  mishap,  other  than  a 
wetting,  a  lost  hat,  and  a  profuse  perspiration  from 
hard  paddling.  We  were  safe,  and  for  this  we  de- 
voutedly  thanked  the  Ordainer  of  all  things. 

We  stopped  for  dinner  at  the  little  frame  hotel,  the 
Chesuncook  House,  which  is  the  last  sign  or  semblance 
of  a  hostelry  you  see  before  plunging  into  the  great 
wilderness  beyond.  Among  those  who  were  making 
the  hotel  their  headquarters  were  three  sports  who 
went  out  in  the  morning  to  hunt  and  returned  at 


A  CLOSE  CALL  137 

night  to  recuperate.  They  had  killed  a  nice  buck  the 
day  before  our  arrival  and  had  set  it  up  on  the  shore 
of  the  lake  for  inspection.  It  was  hanging  from  a 
trident  formed  of  three  poles,  and  while  the  rain  beat 
upon  it  and  the  wind  swayed  it  to  and  fro  the  hunters 
watched  it  with  admiring  eyes ;  and  well  they  might, 
for  it  was  a  beauty. 

Now,  two  of  the  aforesaid  sports  were  from  Wood- 
bury,  N.  J.,  and  the  other  from  Boston.  The  Boston 
man  and  one  of  the  Woodbury  men  were  built  on  the 
corpulent  model,  extremely  oily,  and  with  a  girth  that 
might  have  rivaled  Falstaff's.  But  they  were  not 
sensitive  on  that  point,  as  some  oleaginous  men  are — 
men  to  whom  the  slightest  reference  or  even  glance  in 
a  stomachward  direction  would  be  at  once  a  casus  belli. 

Our  conversation  at  dinner  turned  upon  the  treat- 
ment they  had  been  experiencing  from  their  guides. 
"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  Boston  man,  "  I  have  had 
the  most  unpleasant  experience  rubbed  into  me  by 
these  guides  and  I  don't  care  to  have  the  operation 
repeated." 

"  What  was  the  nature  of  the  operation  ? "  I  ven- 
tured to  ask. 

"Well,  you  probably  have  noticed  that  I  have  a 
good  deal  of  butter  in  my  make-up  and  I  don't  care  to 
have  it  all  melted  at  once,  which  seemed  to  be  what 
these  guides  were  after.  They  told  us  that  the  Am- 
bezuskas  meadow  was  a  glorious  place  to  hunt  in,  and 


138  SPORT   INDEED 

so  it  may  be  for  a  lean  man ;  surely  no  fat  man  could 
find  any  glory  in  it  unless  his  fat  be  of  a  more  un- 
meltable  quality  than  mine.  Imagine  three  hundred 
pounds  of  flesh  floundering  through  mud  and  water, 
tripping  over  cedar  roots,  falling  over  logs,  struggling 
for  a  little  temporary  foothold  in  order  to  pull  one- 
self out  of  the  mud  and  regain  an  upright  position, 
while  the  guide  stands  at  a  safe  distance  away, 
beckoning  and  shouting  '  come  on  ! '  After  this  part 
of  the  programme  had  been  repeated  several  times, 
always  winding  up  with  '  come  on,'  tired  Nature 
gave  out  and  refused  to  comply  with  the  guide's  man- 
date. Mounting  a  stump  I  gathered  together  what 
little  strength  I  had  left  and  put  it  .all  into  a  shout, 

*  You  be  d d  !  I'll  not  "  come  on "  any  more. 

"  Come  on "  yourself,  that's  what  I'm  paying  you 
for.' " 

His  story,  by  the  way,  reminds  me  of  another 
which  is  short  enough  and  good  enough  to  fit  in  here. 
Two  would-be  deer  hunters,  one  thin  and  wiry,  the 
other  round  and  oily,  had  struck  a  trail  and  the  thin 
fellow  lifting  his  eyes  saw  a  big  buck  bounding  di- 
rectly towards  them.  "  There  he  comes !  lie  down  !  " 
shouted  the  thin  chap,  but  seeing  no  reduction  in  the 
obtrusive  size  of  his  companion  again  he  shouted, 
"  Lie  down  !  Lie  down !  " 

This  time  an  answer  came  from  the  direction  of  the 
butter  pile. 


A  CLOSE  CALL  139 

"  D n  it  all,  I  am  lying  down ! " 

"  The  d 1  you  are !  Then  stand  up  and  perhaps 

the  buck  won't  see  you." 

We  left  Chesuncook  Lake  at  half-past  one  in  the 
afternoon,  fixed  our  loads  in  the  canoes  at  a  landing 
stage  near  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  in  the  driving, 
pitiless  rain,  we  started  to  paddle  up  the  stream,  in- 
tending to  reach  the  Halfway  House,  about  eleven 
miles  up,  before  dark.  On  the  trip  up  the  "  sport "  is 
expected  to  leave  the  canoe  and  walk  around  the 
stream's  obstructions  known  as  the  Pine  Stream 
Falls,  Kocky  Rips  and  the  Fox  Hole  Rapids,  while 
the  guide,  with  the  lightened  canoe,  poles  it  up  against 
the  swift  current  which  swirls  and  eddies  around  the 
huge  rocks  lying  in  all  sorts  of  ways  and  angles  in 
the  bed  of  the  stream.  "We  walked  therefore  through 
a  path  in  the  woods  around  Pine  Stream  Falls  and 
the  Rocky  Rips,  and  above  them  was  a  stretch  of 
dead-water  which  ended  at  the  foot  of  Fox  Hole 
Rapids.  Here  we  left  the  canoes  again  and  took  to 
the  road  which  runs  in  a  nearly  straight  direction, 
while  the  river  makes  a  great  bend  off  to  the  right, 
and  the  road  for  the  distance  of,  say  a  mile  and  a 
half,  cuts  off  quite  a  detour  in  the  river.  Just  as  we 
entered  this  road  I  told  my  son  to  walk  ahead  very 
carefully  until  he  came  to  a  piece  of  burnt  land  which 
my  recollection  said  was  a  feeding  ground  for  deer, 
and  he  might  get  a  shot.  As  he  emerged  from  the 


140  SPORT    INDEED 

woods  I  saw  him  stop  on  the  burnt  land  and  take  his 
rifle  from  under  his  arm  (it  was  still  pouring  rain).  I 
saw  him  aim  and  fire  and  a  deer  bound  away,  while 
the  youth  jumped  over  burnt  timber  and  scrambled 
through  stunted  brush.  Again  I  saw  him  aim  and 
fire,  and  I  saw  the  deer  drop.  Now  we  were  in  a 
pickle  ;  night  was  coming  on  fast  and  the  canoes  were 
away  off  to  the  right.  The  rain  was  splashing  down 
in  torrents.  There  was  no  time  to  wait,  so  we  at 
once  opened  the  deer  and  took  out  the  "  inwards,"  cut 
a  sapling  with  our  knives,  ran  it  through  the  "  hocks  " 
of  the  deer,  slung  it  on  our  shoulders  and  started  for 
the  road.  This  road  is  called  a  "  tote-road "  by 
courtesy,  and  in  winter  it  is  much  used  for  hauling 
supplies  on  when  there  is  a  good  depth  of  snow. 

In  summer  and  fall  it  is  not  much  used,  and  there 
are  rocks  and  roots  upon  it,  and  holes  in  it  that  would 
shame  the  "  Slough  of  Despond."  It  was  now  dusk, 
and  soon  became  pitch  dark.  And  the  rain,  how  it 
did  pour !  We  stumbled  and  slid  along  over  roots 
and  water  and  mud,  swaying  from  side  to  side  with 
our  unwieldy  load,  rifle  in  one  hand  and  the  other 
steadying  the  pole  on  our  shoulders,  every  now  and 
then  tramping  on  the  deer's  head  which  hung  and 
dragged  on  the  ground.  So  for  the  mile  and  a  half 
we  trudged  along  until  the  canoes  were  reached. 

Here  we  found  the  guides  angry  and  alarmed  at 
our  prolonged  absence,  and,  as  they  were  soaking  wet, 


A  CLOSE  CALL  143 

we  couldn't  blame  them.  "We  got  into  the  canoes 
again  and  paddled  briskly  until  we  saw  a  welcome 
light  shining  ahead  at  the  Halfway  House.  This 
house  is  built  away  up  on  a  clay  bank,  and  set  far 
enough  back  from  the  river  to  prevent  the  Spring  and 
Fall  floods  from  washing  it  away.  Now  a  steep, 
clayey  bank  on  a  night  when  the  water  is  pouring 
down  is  not  a  nice  one  for  a  lot  of  half-frozen,  half- 
drowned  men  to  clamber  up.  We  slid  and  slipped 
here  and  there,  now  down  and  now  up,  until  we  were 
well-covered  with  clay ;  but  we  were  cheerful  withal, 
and  that's  a  great  deal  towards  contentment.  We  at 
last  reached  the  house,  had  our  baggage  brought  in, 
and  to  our  disgust  found  everything  was  wet — over- 
coats, blankets,  underclothes,  negatives,  etc.,  etc.  A 
big  fire  was  built  in  a  big  stove.  We  ate  supper, 
hung  our  wet  clothes  around  the  fire,  emptied  all  of 
our  luggage  sacks  and  hung  the  contents  of  them 
upon  the  chairs  and  benches  as  well  as  upon  the  wall. 
After  this  task  we  went  to  bed  and  were  soon  wrapt 
in  the  sweet  sleep  that  comes  to  all  men  who  labor  in 
the  open  air  and  know  how  to  make  the  best  of  storm 
or  cold  or  any  other  of  Nature's  unpleasant  pranks 
which  she  may  be  pleased  to  play  upon  them. 

At  half-past  three  the  next  morning  we  tumbled 
out  of  bed,  ate  a  hasty  breakfast  of  bread  and  butter 
and  bacon  and  coffee,  repacked  all  our  things  in  their 
proper  sacks,  carried  them  down  and  placed  them  in 


144  SPORT    INDEED 

the  canoes.  Then  before  the  goddess  of  morn  had 
time  to  get  her  eyes  open,  we  pushed  off  for  our  last 
canoeing  trip  of  that  season. 

The  pouring  rain  had  now  ceased  and  the  weather 
had  turned  so  cold  that  the  water  froze  upon  our 
paddles,  and  the  river  was  so  nearly  frozen  that  there 
was  little  or  no  spring  in  the  canoes.  'Twas  a  dead 
push  all  the  way  up  to  the  Northeast  Carry.  "We  had 
not  been  able  to  draw  on  our  leather  boots  by  reason 
of  their  soaking  of  the  night  before,  and  rubber  boots 
had  to  be  substituted ;  and  these,  in  that  biting  cold, 
made  it  uncomfortable  paddling.  After  a  run  of  four 
miles  we  were  glad  to  push  the  canoes  ashore,  build  a 
fire  and  warm  up.  At  about  nine  o'clock  we  landed 
at  the  Carry,  hired  a  wagon  to  tote  our  stuff  over  to 
Moosehead  Lake  and  then  walked  the  two  miles  of 
good  road  which  constitutes  this  famous  Carry. 

"When  we  reached  the  little  hotel  at  the  lake  end  of 
the  Carry  we  had  to  wait  several  hours  for  a  steam- 
boat to  take  us  to  Greenville,  forty  miles  away, 
whence  the  train  is  taken  for  Bangor.  Here  I  noticed 
a  youth  who  looked  feeble  and  sick,  as  if  nigh  unto 
death.  He  was  a  farmer's  boy  whose  home  was  near 
Hartford,  Conn.  The  boy  had  read  and  reread 
stories  of  hunters ;  of  their  happy  lives  in  the  woods, 
and  their  ignorance  of  restraint,  and  pored  over  them 
until  his  brain  had  room  for  nothing  else.  The  read- 
ing of  Cooper's  novels  had  so  fired  his  imagination 


A  CLOSE  CALL  145 

that  he  resolved  to  live  the  life  of  a  hunter,  and  to  do 
it  he  believed  that  nothing  more  was  needed  than  to 
go  into  the  woods  with  a  rifle  and  a  rubber  blanket. 
This  was  no  theory  with  him  to  dream  over,  but  one 
to  act  upon.  He  came  alone  from  his  farm,  went 
alone  into  the  woods  and  very  soon  stalked  a  deer 
which  he  succeeded  in  killing.  Then  his  youthful 
breast  beat  high  with  rapture  as  he  saw  the  noble 
quarry  lying  at  his  feet.  But  hunger  must  be  ap- 
peased, and  he  was  hungry,  no  doubt  about  that.  He 
dressed  the  deer,  cut  a  steak,  still  reeking  with  animal 
heat,  built  a  fire,  toasted  the  venison  on  a  stick  and 
greedily  ate  it.  Then  spreading  his  rubber  blanket 
upon  the  ground  and  without  either  a  blanket  to 
cover  him  or  a  sleeping  bag  to  crawl  into  he  laid  him 
down  in  the  frosty  air  and  slept  the  sleep  of  youth 
and  tired-out  nature.  Next  morning  he  awoke  with 
shivering  body  and  chattering  teeth  and  a  burning 
pain  in  the  intestines.  Hanging  up  his  deer  in  a  tree 
as  well  as  he  could,  he  built  a  fresh  fire  and  tried  to 
warm  his  body  and  dispel  the  chill  which  at  last  gave 
way  to  a  fever  and  a  splitting  headache.  The  morn- 
ing passed,  noon  came,  and  night,  and  there  he  lay. 
On  the  morning  of  the  second  day,  prone  upon  the 
ground,  with  the  red  squirrels  busy  about  him  gather- 
ing their  winter  stores,  the  poor  boy  lay.  Here,  sick, 
far  from  home,  from  kindred,  from  mother's  care,  or 
doctor's  aid,  he  was  found  by  a  party  of  lumbermen 


146  SPORT    INDEED 

who  carried  him  to  their  camp  and  nursed  and  fed 
him  as  well  as  they  could  for  six  days.  Then  as  the 
winter  was  fast  closing  in  they  sent  a  man  out  of  the 
woods  with  him  to  the  Carry,  and  here  I  saw  him. 
His  attendant  asked  me  if  I  would  look  after  him  as 
far  as  I  went.  I  told  him  nothing  could  give  me 
more  pleasure  than  to  do  so. 

When  the  steamboat  arrived  I  took  him  aboard,  got 
a  sofa  for  him  to  lie  upon,  and  then  looked  over  my 
medicine  chest.  Picking  out  some  tablets,  which  had 
a  very  little  of  morphia  in  them,  I  gave  him  one  of 
these  every  three  hours  and  made  him  drink  hot  milk 
with  some  cayenne  pepper  in  it. 

We  reached  Greenville  very  late  at  night,  left  at  six 
the  next  morning  and  arrived  at  Bangor  about  noon, 
leaving  the  latter  sometime  in  the  early  afternoon. 
At  these  places,  and  wherever  and  whenever  I  could 
get  the  hot  milk,  I  made  the  poor  boy  drink  it.  At 
Portland,  I  had  a  doctor  examine  him  who  said  that 
the  boy  was  certainly  in  the  early  stages  of  typhoid 
fever  and  that  he  also  had  intestinal  catarrh,  caused 
by  the  eating  of  the  venison  before  it  had  parted  with 
its  animal  heat.  The  doctor  also  said  that  the  tablets 
I  had  given  him  were  "  right "  and  that  the  hot  milk 
was  "  right."  We  reached  Boston  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  and  thinking  that  the  train  I  was  to  take 
was  the  same  which  was  to  carry  the  boy  to  his  home, 
I  took  him  to  the  Providence  depot,  but  found  I  was 


A  CLOSE  CALL  147 

mistaken,  and  that  he  had  to  go  by  the  Boston  and 
Albany  Railway.  My  time  was  short  and  his,  too. 
Checking  my  own  baggage  I  engaged  my  berth,  then 
left  my  son  with  the  remainder  of  the  stuff  and 
started  for  the  other  depot.  It  was  raining  heavily, 
and  at  that  time  of  night  I  could  find  neither  carriage 
nor  street  car,  and  so  was  compelled  partly  to  support 
and  carry,  and  partly  to  drag  the  sick  boy  on  the 
way.  "We  reached  the  train  with  five  minutes  to 
spare.  After  buying  his  ticket  I  helped  him  into  a 
car,  laid  him  down  and  then  hunted  up  the  conductor 
— a  portly,  pompous,  beggar-on-horseback  sort  of  a 
fellow — and  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  kindly  look 
after  the  boy  to  the  end  of  his  division  and  then  ask 
the  following  conductor  also  to  see  to  his  comfort. 
His  reply  was  perhaps  what  I  might  have  expected. 
"  No,  sir !  I  have  no  time  to  look  after  sick  people. 
I've  got  my  train  to  attend  to,  and  if  the  boy  gives  me 
any  trouble  I'll  put  him  off  at  Worcester  and  send 
him  to  the  hospital."  A  man  was  standing  near  him 
(probably  a  railway  official)  who  had  listened  to  my 
story  and  request  and  to  the  conductor's  reply.  He 
turned  quickly  to  the  man  of  brass  buttons  and 
swinging  lantern,  and  spoke  with  a  frown.  The 
words  were  few  and  their  purport  I  did  not  catch ; 
but,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  the  change  was 
magical.  The  conductor  came  toward  me  and  in  the 
most  polite  and  cringing  manner  promised  to  look 


148  SPORT    INDEED 

after  the  boy.  Then  the  semaphore  over  the  gate 
changed  from  red  to  white,  the  bell  rang,  a  shout  of 
"  All  aboard,"  and  with  measured  puff  the  train  was 
on  its  way. 

My  own  train  was  to  leave  at  midnight  and  I  hur- 
ried back  to  it  through  the  rain  which  pelted  in  tor- 
rents and  wet  me  through.  However,  it  took  but 
little  time  to  get  undressed  and  into  my  berth.  A 
few  moments  afterward  I  felt  the  train  moving  out 
of  the  station,  and  then  all  knowledge  and  recollec- 
tion took  a  back  seat.  I  knew  nothing  until  I  awoke 
next  morning  at  my  destination,  fully  aware  that  the 
hunting  season  was  over,  that  I  was  back  among  my 
friends  and  loved  ones,  sound  in  mind  and  limb,  re- 
vived in  brain  and  ready  for  any  amount  of  work. 
Verily, 

"  Hunting  is  an  exercise 
To  make  man  sturdy,  active,  wise ; 
To  fill  his  spirits  with  delight, 
To  help  his  hearing,  mend  his  sight, 
To  teach  him  arts  that  never  slip 
His  memory  ;  canoemanship, 
And  search  and  sharpness  and  defense, 
And  all  ill  habits  chaseth  hence." 


The  Fun  of  Hunting 

I  love  the  sport  well. 

— Two  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

YES,  I  love  the  sport  of  hunting  and  love  it  well, 
especially  if  a  bull-moose  or  a  caribou  be  the  object  of 
it.  To  be  sure  it  entails  several  things  which  the  city- 
bred  tenderfoot  might  call  discomforts,  such  as  wad- 
ing through  watery  bogs,  tumbling  into  mudholes, 
sleeping  in  wet  forests,  and,  should  his  lumber  muscles 
have  the  temper  of  mine,  a  struggle  or  two  with  lum- 
bago. My  own  comfort  and  the  sport  itself  have 
often  been  at  loggerheads  and  had  many  a  spat ;  yet  I 
always  sided  with  the  sport — "  Not  that  I  loved  Caesar 
less,  but  that  I  loved  Rome  more." 

One  of  my  trips  found  me  at  the  Nictau  Lakes,  but 
the  continuous  high  winds  in  that  region  interfering 
with  the  hunting,  our  party  turned  their  faces  home- 
ward. We  spent  part  of  a  day  in  shoving  down  the 
Tobique  River  to  Red  Brook,  a  distance  of  twelve 
miles.  Here  we  hid  the  bulk  of  our  supplies  in  the 
mouth  of  an  old  lumber  road,  and  taking  as  much  of 
the  stuff  as  four  of  us  could  handle,  carried  it  over 
two  ridges  to  a  "  dead-water  "  on  a  small  brook  seven 

149 


150  SPORT   INDEED 

miles  from  the  river.  Then  we  located  ourselves  at  an 
abandoned  lumber  camp  and  spent  the  night  there. 
It  was  decided  that  my  son  should  take  up  his  quarters 
at  the  foot  of  one  piece  of  dead-water  and  I  at  the 
head  of  another,  a  mile  and  a  half  away.  The  sky 
was  threatening  and  rain  began  to  fall  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

We  watched  and  called  at  intervals  till  dawn  began 
to  break ;  then  wearied  with  watching  and  chilled  to 
the  bone  I  crawled  under  my  blanket. 

The  guide  had  wandered  down  the  stream,  a  hun- 
dred yards  or  more,  to  where  it  is  crossed  by  a  little 
bridge.  Here  he  stopped  for  the  purpose  of  taking  a 
drink  of  water.  As  he  stepped  on  the  bridge,  he  saw 
a  bull-moose  move  cautiously  out  of  the  woods  and 
head  for  my  direction.  The  guide  watched  him  in- 
tently, and  when  the  moose  would  make  a  step  he 
would  do  the  same,  so  as  to  not  attract  the  animal's 
attention  by  the  noise  made  in  walking.  The  moose 
took  the  opposite  bank  of  the  stream,  walking  a  few 
steps  and  then  stopping  to  listen.  Whenever  the  bull 
stopped,  the  guide  also  would  stop,  and  thus  a  consid- 
erable time  was  spent  before  the  latter  reached  the 
place  where  I  lay  snuggled  under  my  blanket.  By  the 
time  the  bull  got  directly  opposite  to  me,  the  guide 
had  reached  a  clump  of  alders,  behind  which  he  stood 
and  within  earshot.  He  did  not  dare  to  give  the 
moose  a  chance  to  see  him,  but  I  heard  him  say  in  low, 


THE  FUN  OF  HUNTING  151 

measured  tones,  "  There's  a  bull-moose  standing  right 
across  the  brook  in  the  edge  of  the  woods.  Don't  get 
up  too  quick,  but  be  swift  with  your  shot  and  don't 
miss  him." 

Before  the  guide  had  finished  his  instructions  I  had 
my  rifle  out  from  under  the  shelter  of  the  rubber 
blankets  and  cocked.  Then,  slowly  raising  myself  to 
a  standing  position,  I  saw  the  bull.  He  saw  me,  too, 
and  turned  quickly  around  to  make  his  way  into  the 
woods.  But  my  rifle  was  a  little  quicker  than  the 
bull.  I  fired,  and  the  ball  struck  him  squarely  on  the 
left  hip-bone,  crushing  its  way  through  it  and  drop- 
ping the  big  fellow  in  his  tracks.  But  it  took  two 
more  bullets  to  finish  him. 

After  breakfast  we  went  to  work  skinning  and 
quartering  him.  When  this  was  done  we  undertook 
the  more  delicate  task  of  removing  the  scalp  from  the 
head  and  cleaning  the  skull  for  mounting.  Then  we 
hung  up  the  meat  to  cool  off,  and  salted  the  hide  and 
head. 

After  dinner  we  explored  and  discovered  another 
dead-water  two  miles  off,  on  the  Restigouche  "Waters. 
The  little  stream  that  formed  it  was  less  than  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  Tobique  waters,  upon  which  we 
were  hunting. 

A  caribou  bull  broke  cover,  some  three  hundred 
and  fifty  yards  away,  and  ran  directly  across  the 
level.  This  incident  decided  us  to  try  the  same  dead- 


152  SPORT   INDEED 

water  that  night,  with  the  hope  of  getting  a  shot  at 
one  of  his  tribe.  We  returned  to  camp,  packed  up 
our  bedding,  took  a  few  biscuits  and  a  small  pail  of 
water  to  comfort  us  during  the  night,  and  again 
reached  the  lower  end  of  the  dead-water  at  five 
o'clock.  We  cut  an  avenue  into  the  alders,  cleared 
off  a  bit  of  ground,  laid  our  blankets  down,  and  tried 
to  find  out  if  there  wasn't  another  stretch  of  dead- 
water  further  down.  At  the  very  extreme  point  of 
an  open  space  was  a  bottomless  mud-hole  and  diago- 
nally across  it  an  old  cedar  tree  had  fallen.  It  was 
necessary  to  cross  over  this  tree  to  work  our  way 
down  the  stream.  The  guide  got  on  the  small  end  of 
it  and,  with  a  pole,  worked  his  way  safely  over ;  then 
it  was  my  turn  and  I  was  equally  successful,  until  the 
butt-end  of  the  tree  was  reached.  Then  the  old  cedar 
crushed  with  my  weight,  my  left  foot  came  in  contact 
with  one  of  its  broken  slivers,  and  in  a  jiffy  I  was  off 
the  log  and  into  the  mud-hole.  It  was  lucky  for  me 
— however  unlucky  it  may  be  for  my  readers — that  an 
alder  branch  on  the  bank  hung  within  my  reach.  No 
drowning  man  ever  snatched  at  his  proverbial  straw 
with  keener  haste  than  did  I  at  that  alder  branch. 
With  its  aid  I  began  to  pull  myself  out  of  my  predica- 
ment ;  it  was  slow  work,  for  the  mud  seemed  deter- 
mined not  to  let  me  slip  from  its  slimy  clutches. 
However,  I  did  get  out  of  them,  and  when  I  stood  on 
the  bank  I  looked  about  me  for  my  rifle.  Like  a 


THE  FUN  OF  HUNTING  153 

faithful  friend  it  had  followed  me  on  my  plunge,  and 
I  now  saw  it  rapidly  disappearing  in  the  hole,  butt- 
end  first,  and,  for  all  I  knew,  on  its  way  to  the 
antipodes.  The  guide  saw  it  too,  and  reaching  over 
caught  it  by  the  muzzle,  in  time  to  stop  its  mad,  or 
rather  mud-career,  and  proudly  restored  it  to  the 
hands  of  its  owner. 

Its  "  owner's  "  hands,  as  well  as  every  other  part  of 
him,  needed  some  restoring.  My  trousers  were  be- 
daubed an  inch  thick  with  the  sticky  stuff,  and  my 
drawers  so  thoroughly  soaked  that  I  wondered  if  ever 
again  they  would  be  dry.  But  I  consoled  myself 
with  the  old  Dutchman's  proverb :  "  Dime  dries  all 
dings,"  and  thought,  in  the  course  of  events,  it  might 
"  dry  "  mine. 

But  as  my  comfort  was  not  disposed  to  wait  for 
time  to  do  the  work,  I  started  the  guide  on  a  run  to 
camp  for  fresh  clothing.  Then  I  pulled  off  my  boots 
—no  easy  job — divested  my  legs  of  the  drawers  and 
trousers,  and  then  in  bare  limbs  trudged  through  the 
wet  grass  to  a  neighboring  brook.  I  brought  with 
me  my  boots  for  the  purpose  of  ridding  them  of  the 
mud  that  loaded  them  inside  and  out,  and  also 
brought  my  watch,  cartridges,  matches  and  compass. 
The  latter  articles  I  had  taken  from  my  trousers' 
pocket  and  tied  in  a  handkerchief  for  convenient 
carrying.  I  reached  the  brook  and  commenced  my 
washtub  business,  but  before  I  got  through  with  one 


154  SPORT   INDEED 

boot  my  task  was  interrupted  by  a  hungry  swarm  of 
black  flies.  They  had  discovered  my  nakedness  and 
began  at  once  to  satisfy  their  hunger,  picking  out 
each  tender  spot  and  boring  into  it  with  such  vigor 
and  determination  there  was  nothing  left  me  but 
flight ;  and  I  flew. 

Now,  to  walk  or  run  in  bare  feet  is  good  for  the 
health — at  least,  so  said  good  Father  Kneipp ;  but  if 
he  had  ever  had  any  experience  in  walking  or  running 
through  cold  spring  water,  waxey  mud  and  sharp- 
cutting  swale  and  wire  grass  he  might  have  admitted 
some  exceptions. 

When  I  reached  the  shelter  of  the  alders,  my 
watch,  shells,  compass  and  the  other  things  were 
missing.  They  had  dropped  from  the  handkerchief 
unnoticed  in  my  hurried  flight  and  I  was  forced  to 
tramp  back  and  hunt  for  them.  Twice  did  I  make 
the  trip,  each  time  through  a  cloud  of  the  flies  whose 
hungry  appetite  seemed  to  grow  "  by  what  it  fed  on." 
As  a  fretful  horse  tries  to  shake  off  his  tormenting 
biters  by  stamping  his  feet,  so  did  I  endeavor  to  rid 
myself  of  mine.  Nor  was  it  my  feet  alone  that  were 
busy.  My  hands  were  quite  as  fully  employed.  I 
whirled  them  about  my  face  and  ears  and  slapped  my 
neck,  my  shoulders,  and  my  legs  until  they  grew  red 
and  I  grew  weary. 

I  found  the  watch  at  last,  hanging  by  its  chain  to 
an  alder  bush  which  had  caught  and  dragged  it  from 


THE  FUN  OF  HUNTING  155 

the  handkerchief.  The  shells  and  other  missing 
things  were  under  the  alders. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  get  me  into  my  sleeping 
bag,  cover  up,  and  forget  all  about  my  tormentors. 
In  an  hour  and  a  half  the  guide  returned  with  the 
dry  underclothing  which  I  put  on,  and  was  then  ready 
once  more  to  brave  the  raw  air  and  the  hustling  flies. 

I  might  remark,  by  the  way,  that  if  the  plague-fly 
of  the  Egyptians  was  a  more  accomplished  biter  than 
is  the  black  fly  of  New  Brunswick,  in  the  lingo  of  to- 
day, he  must  have  been  a  "  dandy." 


A  Ftre-and-  Water  Medley 

Spit  fire  !    Spout,  rain  ! 

— KING  LEAR. 

"THE  property  of  rain  is  to  wet  and  fire  to  burn," 
— a  hackneyed  truism  of  which  our  New  Brunswick 
camp  had  rather  a  damp  and  lucid  proof. 

The  rain  had  been  falling  heavily  all  day.  We 
knew  it  was  the  intention  of  a  party,  consisting  of 
two  sportsmen  with  their  guide,  and  one  woman,  to 
come  through  and  camp  at  the  head  of  the  Tobique 
Kiver,  but  thought  they  would  prefer  to  stay  at  Ked 
Brook,  twelve  miles  below,  until  the  storm  abated, 
rather  than  expose  themselves  to  its  fury  in  their 
canoes. 

Toward  evening  the  storm  let  up  a  little,  and  with 
my  guide  I  concluded  to  venture  out  for  moose- 
calling.  "We  stayed  out  until  eleven  at  night,  and 
then  the  wind  became  so  strong  again  and  the  rain  so 
heavy  we  paddled  back  to  camp. 

Our  main  camp  was  a  rather  primitive  log  structure, 
with  a  wooden  fireplace,  made  by  setting  long  split 
logs  on  end,  forming  a  chimney  and  a  ventilator,  and 
affording  light  as  well  as  heat.  There  was  no  window 

of  any  kind.     As  a  sleeping  place  the  cabin  might 

156 


A  FIRE-AND-WATER  MEDLEY    i  $7 

have  accommodated  five  men  comfortably,  had  it  not 
been  utilized  also  for  cooking  purposes ;  but  being 
thus  used,  five  sleepers  crowded  it  a  little  too  thickly 
for  comfort. 

Imagine  our  surprise  when,  on  this  dark  and  stormy 
night,  we  opened  the  door  of  the  cabin  to  find  its  in- 
side crowded  with  seven  guides,  two  sportsmen  and 
one  woman. 

They  had  been  all  day  dragging  up  from  Ked 
Brook,  twelve  miles,  for  the  water  was  so  low  that 
the  canoes  had  to  be  dragged  most  of  the  way. 

The  two  "  Sports "  were  tolerably  dry,  but  the 
guides  were  as  wet  as  the  rain  and  an  occasional 
"  header  "  in  the  stream  could  make  them. 

All  were  huddled  round  the  fire,  while  the  steam 
from  their  drying  clothes  and  the  smoke  from  the  fire 
itself  had  a  struggle  with  each  other  as  to  which 
should  be  first  in  its  flight  up  the  chimney. 

Every  one  seemed  in  good  humor,  particularly  the 
lady,  who  was  really  the  most  cheerful  one  in  the 
camp.  She  dried  her  skirts  before  the  fire,  laughed  at 
the  incidents  of  the  trip,  and,  while  her  husband  pulled 
off  her  rubber  boots,  made  fun  of  my  embarrassment 
caused  by  the  slim  prospect  of  giving  every  one  a 
chance  to  sleep.  The  weary,  water-soaked  men 
around  her  drank  in  her  jolly  humor,  for  there  was  a 
dryness  about  it  that  seemed  to  counteract  their 
damp  condition.  It  is  wonderful  what  an  electric 


158  SPORT   INDEED 

effect  a  handsome,  healthy  and  well-built  woman  can 
produce  upon  a  bunch  of  travel-tired  men,  especially 
if  she  be  an  independent  specimen  of  her  sex — that  is, 
one  who  is  willing  to  shoulder  her  share  of  work  and 
privation,  and  ask  no  odds  on  account  of  her 
womanhood. 

After  some  discussion  of  ways  and  means,  a  corner 
of  the  cabin  was  curtained  off  for  the  lady,  while  the 
guides  spent  an  hour  in  rigging  up  a  tent  outside  for 
themselves  and  in  getting  some  dry  underclothes  on 
in  place  of  wet  ones. 

Bedtime  came  and  the  party  turned  in.  By  mid- 
night everything  had  quieted  save  the  rain  that  came 
down  the  wooden  chimney  and  sputtered  on  the  burn- 
ing logs.  The  silence,  too,  was  somewhat  interfered 
with  by  a  choir  of  snorers — or  rather  two  choirs,  for 
truth  compels  me  to  say  that  the  melody  was  not 
confined  to  the  tent  outside.  Who  the  choristers 
were  in  the  cabin,  I  can't  say  ;  I  don't  think  the 
lady  was  one  of  them,  for  I  heard  no  soprano  notes. 

Next  day  the  newcomers  started  out  to  explore  the 
lake  and  its  surroundings,  and  to  try  the  artificial 
flies  on  the  trout.  They  had  brought  a  tent  with 
them  which  was  set  up  some  distance  from  ours,  and 
to  which  they  removed.  It  was  a  nast}^  night,  so  all 
stayed  indoors.  At  half-past  three  in  the  morning 
the  startling  cry  of  "  Fire  !  fire  !  "  awoke  me.  The 
inside  of  the  cabin  was  ablaze.  The  clothes  hanging 


A  FIRE-AND-WATER  MEDLEY    159 

on  a  line  were  sizzling,  and  two  rubber  coats  that 
were  burning  gave  out  a  suffocating  odor.  The  cabin 
was  as  inflammable  as  tinder,  its  roof  being  of  birch 
bark  and  full  of  resinous  oils.  The  wooden  chimney 
was  now  on  fire  from  top  to  bottom,  and  the  sides  of 
the  cabin  a  hissing  sheet  of  flame ;  so  there  was  no 
time  to  do  much  thinking. 

I  rushed  out  into  the  rain  in  bare  feet,  grabbed 
two  buckets  of  water  that  fortunately  stood  near  the 
camp  and  handed  them  to  my  companion,  who  was 
still  lustily  yelling  "  Fire  ! "  I  then  ran  to  an  outside 
camp-fire,  where  I  found  a  kettle  full  of  water.  The 
guides  in  the  meantime  had  been  aroused  and  were 
now  throwing  the  water  upon  the  sides  and  roof. 
Their  efforts  were  successful,  and  the  fire  subsided 
almost  as  quickly  as  it  had  started. 

Since  this  incident  I  am  not  surprised  to  learn  that 
there  are  numerous  fires,  with  many  casualties,  every 
fall  and  winter  in  these  dangerously  combustible  build- 
ings that  are  in  use  all  through  the  lumber  district  of 
the  province  of  New  Brunswick.  Not  many  years 
ago  three  young  men  were  roasted  to  death  in  just 
such  a  fire  trap  as  ours,  and  not  one  of  the  three  had 
been  able  to  reach  the  door  before  death  overtook 
him.  One  of  the  victims  had  apparently  gotten  up 
from  his  bed  of  boughs,  made  a  step  toward  the 
door,  and  then  stumbled  and  perished  in  the  flames. 
The  other  two  in  their  agony  had  tried  to  get  up, 


160  SPORT   INDEED 

but  had  fallen  back  again.  Their  bodies  were  found, 
burned  to  a  crisp,  and  sent  home  to  their  friends  for 
burial. 

Since  that  night  I  have  had  a  decided  preference 
for  lying  outside  the  camp  and  on  the  ground — any- 
where rather  than  in  a  wooden  cabin  with  a  wooden 
chimney  and  a  wooden  fireplace.  Let  me  thank  God, 
for  I  have  cause,  that  in  His  kind  Providence  He 
thought  fit  to  save  me  from  a  fearful  death. 


A  Day  in  the  Big  Woods 

It  was  my  deer. 

— JULIUS  CJJSAR. 

GIST  one  of  our  hunting  trips  through  the  wilds  of 
Maine  we  had  a  series  of  three  camps,  and  I  think  it 
will  add  interest  to  my  tale  to  describe  these  minutely 
before  beginning  it. 

The  lower  camp  is  pitched  upon  a  ledge  of  rock 
commanding  a  delightful  prospect,  embracing  a  small, 
circular  lake  in  front,  with  an  open,  grassy  bog  on  its 
sides  and  back  of  it,  and  a  thoroughfare  leading  out 
of  the  little  lake  to  a  large  one,  eighteen  miles  long, 
some  two  miles  below.  "We  named  this  camp  "  Look- 
out Point."  Back  of  the  camp,  and  three-quarters  of 
a  mile  away,  there  is  another  small  lake,  long  and 
irregular  in  shape,  with  a  muddy  bog  at  the  mouth 
of  it,  where  the  busy  beavers  have  built  one  of  their 
characteristic  dams,  which,  my  guide  tells  me,  con- 
tains two  adult  beavers  and  three  young  ones.  How 
he  became  so  well  posted  in  the  number  of  sprouts  on 
their  family  tree,  I  can't  say ;  but  surely  there  were 
beavers  there,  for  we  saw  evidence  of  their  fresh 
Avork  each  morning  that  we  inspected  their  dam. 

Their  house  was  some  two  hundred  yards  away  from 

161 


162  SPORT   INDEED 

their  dam  and  pitched  in  a  piece  of  deep,  spruce 
woods.  It  was  close  to  the  water  and  connected  with 
it  by  various  tunnels  which  the  beavers  use  when  the 
lake  is  frozen  over  and  they  have  to  forage  for  their 
food  and  exercise. 

The  region  around  "  Lookout  Point "  camp  is  well 
cut  up  with  moose  and  caribou  tracks,  and,  as  it  com- 
mands the  two  little  lakes,  is  a  very  desirable  camp- 
ing spot.  Four  miles  up  the  stream  which  runs  into 
the  first  little  lake,  is  a  good-sized  sheet  of  water 
about  three  and  a  half  miles  long  and  perhaps  a  half- 
mile  broad.  Here  we  pitched  our  main  camp  and 
built  a  cabin  of  bright,  clean  logs,  flanking  it  on  one 
side  with  a  commodious  cooking  and  dining-room. 
This  we  furnished  with  a  modern  cook  stove  and  all 
its  appliances,  not  forgetting  plenty  of  shelves  for  the 
dishes  and  utensils. 

In  the  cabin  itself  we  had  a  small  stove,  three  bunks 
to  sleep  in,  and  plenty  of  room  to  "  loaf  "  and  take  our 
ease.  Within  two  minutes'  walk  from  this  camp  is  a 
rocky  point  overlooking  a  secluded  cove  where  the 
deer  come  out  in  the  early  morning  or  at  sundown  to 
drink  and  play  upon  the  sandy  shores.  We  made  this 
our  middle  camp,  and  it  was  here  that  we  kept  all  our 
stores,  as  well  as  our  surplus  clothing.  Six  miles  up 
the  stream  that  feeds  this  lake  we  had  our  end  camp, 
which  we  called  the  "  Dam  Camp,"  because  it  controls 
a  dam  a  quarter  or  half  a  mile  further  up-stream. 


' 


A  DAY  IN  THE  BIG  WOODS       165 

This  dam  was  formerly  used  by  the  lumbermen  to 
store  enough  water  to  enable  them  to  rush  their  logs 
down  the  lake  below  when  the  snow  melted  in  the 
Spring.  For  a  couple  of  miles  above  the  dam  the 
backing  up  of  the  water  in  former  years  had  killed  all 
the  trees  near  the  banks  of  the  stream  and  in  their  place 
alder  and  hazel  bushes  had  grown  up  in  semi-tropical 
profusion.  Here,  among  the  swale  and  wire-grass,  the 
deer  and  moose  often  spend  their  time,  feeding  at 
night  and  taking  their  rest  during  the  day.  On  one 
side  of  the  stream,  where  the  grass  was  tall  enough  to 
almost  hide  a  man  standing  upright,  I  saw  one  bed 
that  a  moose  had  occupied  the  night  before  and  more 
than  twenty  in  which  the  deer  had  been  lying. 

Two  miles  away  from  this  big-game  Elysium  is  a 
dry  bog  frequented  by  caribou  and  to  which,  for  that 
reason,  we  gave  the  name  of  "  the  Caribou  Bog."  It 
is  not  to  the  bog,  however,  that  my  story  relates,  but 
to  the  "  Dam  Camp "  and  its  environments.  Now 
I  warn  the  reader  that  he  must  not  look  for  anything 
in  my  story  to  shake  his  nerves  and  make  his  hair 
stand  on  end,  porcupine-fashion,  although  the  sharp- 
quilled  animal  may  and  does  figure  in  it  to  some  ex- 
tent. No,  my  tale  is  merely  a  recital  of  what  any  man 
may  see  and  on  any  day — if  he  chooses  to  visit  the  re- 
gion of  the  Dam  Camp  and  keep  his  eyes  open. 

One  morning,  a  little  after  five  o'clock,  I  started  up 
the  brook  to  take  a  look  over  the  dam.  It  was  not 


166  SPORT   INDEED 

quite  daylight,  and  objects,  even  a  short  distance 
away,  had  an  undefined  and  hazy  look.  A  few  yards 
up-stream  I  saw  what  I  took  to  be  an  animal  of  some 
sort  going  slowly  along  and  keeping  about  the  same 
distance  ahead  of  me.  What  it  was  my  eyes  were  un- 
able to  tell  me,  further  than  it  was  very  round  and 
very  dark-looking.  Sometimes  it  would  walk  on  the 
stones  in  the  brook,  as  if  afraid  of  getting  its  feet  wet, 
and  where  there  were  no  stones  to  step  on  it  would 
take  to  a  path  in  the  grass  along  the  brook.  After 
straining  my  eyes  awhile  I  decided  that  the  creature 
was  a  young  bear  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  shooting 
him,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  it  were  a  "  cub  " 
the  mother  couldn't  be  far  away,  and  it  would  be  the 
better  plan  to  watch  for  her,  shoot  her,  and  then  cap- 
ture her  offspring  alive.  In  the  meanwhile  the  animal 
was  walking  leisurely  along,  turning  around  occasion- 
ally to  take  a  look  at  me,  but  seeming  to  be  in  no  wise 
alarmed. 

The  day  now  began  to  dawn  and  objects  about  me 
to  grow  more  distinct  and  appear  in  something  like 
their  proper  shape.  I  turned  my  eyes  inquisitively  in 
the  direction  of  my  cub,  but  there  was  no  cub  there, 
nor  any  other  animal  that  looked  like  one.  I  had 
made  a  singular  mistake  which  it  took  the  daylight  to 
rectify.  A  big  porcupine  now  stood  in  the  cub's  place, 
staring  at  me  with  quills  erect  and  a  "  hands-off  "  con- 
fidence in  his  prickly  armor  that  amused  me.  In  a 


A  DAY  IN  THE  BIG  WOODS       167 

moment  or  two  he  began  rolling  himself  into  a  ball,  as 
if  to  prepare  for  battle,  but  when  he  saw  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  making  an  attack,  he  unrolled  himself  and 
waddled  along  beside  me  until  \ve  reached  the  dam, 
under  which  he  crawled,  perhaps  to  take  a  rest  and 
sleep.  Of  course  I  laughed  at  my  mistake,  and  made 
all  sorts  of  excuses  to  my  sportsman's  self.  But  ex- 
cuses were  of  no  avail.  The  thought  would  creep  to 
the  top  of  my  mind  that  there  must  be  a  screw  loose 
in  a  hunter's  optics  or  in  his  education  if  he  doesn't 
know  a  bear  from  a  porcupine. 

My  stomach  now  began  hankering  for  its  breakfast. 
I  looked  about  me  for  some  kind  of  game  that  might 
make  a  foundation  for  it,  but  finding  none  in  sight  I 
baited  a  fishing  line,  that  I  always  kept  there,  made  a 
few  casts  and  caught  enough  fish  for  a  comfortable 
morning  meal ;  then  I  returned  to  camp,  where  the 
cook  dressed  and  broiled  them,  and  with  the  breast  of 
a  fat,  plump  partridge,  killed  the  day  before,  I  man- 
aged to  satisfy  my  inner-man.  Then,  at  a  few  minutes 
after  seven,  I  started  for  the  Caribou  Bog. 

On  entering  the  road  which  begins  at  right  angles 
from  the  brook  two  deer  bounded  out  of  the  grass  into 
the  woods  ;  they  were  both  does.  A  half  mile  further 
up  a  good-sized  buck  jumped  out  of  an  old  logging 
yard  and  disappeared  in  a  jiffy.  It  now  began  to 
drizzle  a  little,  causing  the  noise  made  by  walking  to 
be  almost  imperceptible,  else  why  should  that  most 


168  SPORT    INDEED 

crafty  of  all  wild  animals,  a  fox,  be  ambling  on 
ahead  of  me  in  the  road,  unconscious  of  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  man  behind  him  with  a  40-82  rifle  ?  I 
thought  to  myself,  "  Perhaps  Reynard  has  had  a  good 
night's  hunt,  and  captured  and  eaten  a  partridge  or 
two  with  half-a-dozen  field-mice  by  way  of  dessert,  and 
now  he's  contented  and  tired  and  on  his  way  to  his 
habitation  and  his  bed. 

I  was  too  near  the  Caribou  Bog  to  fire  at  him — the 
noise  might  alarm  the  game — and  so  I  walked  on  be- 
hind him  until  my  foot  broke  a. branch.  He  heard 
the  sound  and  the  next  instant  I  saw  a  streak  of 
yellow  color  flying  through  the  trees.  It  was  the  last 
appearance  and  exit  of  Mr.  Fox.  I  watched  for  a 
moment  in  the  direction  of  his  departure  and  fancied 
I  heard  the  pounding  of  a  buck's  forefoot.  Just  then 
the  sun  shone  out  bright  and  warm  and  I  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  enjoying  its  rays  and  listening.  The 
pounding  continued,  but  I  finally  concluded  that  it 
came  from  a  giant  woodpecker  hammering  at  one  of 
the  trees.  At  this  moment,  turning  my  face  and 
looking  up  the  road,  I  saw  something  that  caused  my 
heart  to  beat  a  rataplan.  Not  thirty  feet  away  and 
coming  toward  me  was  a  monstrous  cow-moose.  She 
was  apparently  wrapped  in  thought,  possibly  of  her 
last  night's  happiness  when  she  thrashed  through  the 
alders  and  meadow  grass  with  her  lover — him  of  the 
towering  antlers.  There  was  a  small  sapling  bent 


K 
< 


A  DAY  IN  THE  BIG  WOODS       171 

down  over  the  road,  and  its  leaves,  at  the  angle  she 
was  carrying  her  head,  prevented  her  from  seeing  me. 
My  first  thought  was  that  she  might  be  followed  by 
the  bull,  and  I  therefore  made  one  step  to  the  right. 
At  the  sound  of  that  one  step  she  stopped.  She 
couldn't  see  me,  because  of  the  sapling,  and  I  couldn't 
see  her  now,  because  the  trunk  of  a  tree  intervened. 
And  there  we  stood,  listening  to  each  other,  but 
neither  of  us  moved.  Minute  after  minute  passed  and 
in  the  meantime  I  did  a  heap  of  thinking,  standing 
there  with  nearly  my  whole  weight  on  one  foot  until 
the  strain  became  unbearable.  Yet  I  dare  not  put 
the  other  down  for  fear  it  might  crack  the  dead 
branches  which  lay  there  and  the  noise  of  it  be  fatal. 

I  calculated  that  in  all  probability  the  bull  had  come 
along  the  road  with  her,  and  had  stopped  a  little  way 
behind.  If  this  were  so,  I  would  soon  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  two  moose  instead  of  one.  But  my 
calculations  were  all  out  of  joint.  The  minutes 
passed  away  and  still  the  old  cow  stood  there,  but  no 
bull  made  his  appearance  to  console  me.  At  last  she 
saw  me,  and  when  she  did,  she  turned  a  little  to  the 
left  and  entered  the  woods,  slowly  and  quietly,  and 
without  showing  the  slightest  sign  of  alarm. 

Her  tracks  proved  her  to  be  a  moose  which  had 
been  prowling  around  the  dam  for  several  nights  past. 
After  this  episode  I  reached  the  Caribou  Bog,  stayed 
there  during  the  forenoon  and  thence  went  back  to 


172  SPORT   INDEED 

camp  for  dinner.  On  returning  to  the  bog,  I  crept 
into  it  very  carefully,  as  the  breaking  of  some  dry 
branches  assured  me  the  caribou  were  feeding  there, 
and  spent  the  afternoon  in  watching  the  cows  as  they 
passed  and  repassed  my  place  of  concealment.  As  for 
the  bull,  the  "King  of  the  bog,"  I  saw  nothing  of 
him,  and  giving  up  all  hope  of  seeing  him  left  the 
bog  at  a  quarter  to  five  and  started  for  the  camp. 

I  was  walking  briskly  along — the  weather  had 
grown  cold  enough  to  make  briskness  desirable — 
when  I  heard  a  noise  in  an  old  logging  yard  opposite 
to  me.  Now,  a  hunter's  ears  have  need  to  be  sharp, 
and  mine  were  sharp  enough  to  tell  me  that  either  a 
moose  or  a  deer  was  behind  that  noise  and  to  be  pre- 
pared for  him.  I  looked  around  and,  sure  enough,  a 
buck  was  there  and  making  for  the  woods  with  leaps 
that  were  mighty  long  and  mighty  full  of  lightning. 

I  had  barely  time  to  say  to  myself :  "  Thomas,  this 
is  thy  deer.  Come  now,  try  thy  hand  at  a  flying 
shot." 

To  cock  the  rifle  and  bring  it  to  my  shoulder  was 
the  work  of  a  second,  and  at  that  particular  second 
the  deer  was  springing  over  the  last  log  that  lay  be- 
tween himself  and  safety.  I  saw  his  "  flag  "  fly  up  as 
he  took  the  leap,  and  fired  at  the  very  instant  he 
disappeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  log.  I  supposed 
I  had  missed  him  ;  but  no ;  when  I  reached  the  log, 
there  he  lay  behind  it,  convulsively  giving  his  last 


A  DAY  IN  THE  BIG  WOODS       173 

kick.  The  ball  had  struck  him  near  the  tail  and 
ranged  through  the  body,  coining  out  at  the  fore- 
shoulder.  He  was  a  four-year-old  buck,  and  as  fat  as 
he  well  could  be  without  melting.  I  dragged  him 
into  the  road,  went  down  to  the  camp,  had  supper, 
and  then,  with  a  lantern  and  the  guide,  returned  to 
where  he  was  lying,  opened  and  dressed  him  and  tak- 
ing the  hind-quarters  and  saddle  reached  camp  at 
8:30  P.  M. 

I  was  in  bed  at  nine,  and  do  you  wonder  that  I  slept 
soundly  that  night  ?  Do  you  wonder  that  I  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  passing  hours  ?  Nothing  of  the  camp-fire 
burning  in  front  of  the  camp?  Nothing  of  a  deer 
which  approached  our  fire  close  enough  to  inhale 
the  strange  scent  of  burning  wood,  and  then  rush 
wildly  away,  whistling  as  he  ran  and  alarming  his 
kindred  far  and  near  ?  No,  reader  ;  my  psychological 
and  acoustic  machineries  were  both  at  a  standstill. 
My  brain  was  too  drowsy  to  dream,  and  my  ear- 
drums had  lost  all  their  cunning  appetite  for  sounds — 
even  for  the  snore  of  my  Canadian  cook.  You  have 
never  heard,  and  perhaps  have  no  desire  to  hear  him  ; 
but  I  can  assure  you  he  is  an  expert  in  that  line,  and 
knows  as  much  about  scientific  snoring  as  he  does 
about  scientific  cooking.  When  he  turns  on  his  back 
and  gets  his  fog-horn  under  way,  its  spasmodic  grunts 
and  snorts  and  roars  would  probably  drown  the  noise 
of  a  sawmill. 


A  Dead-water  Vigil 

Couching,  head  on  ground,  with  cat-like  watch. 

—As  You  LIKE  IT. 

VIGILS,  as  the  reader  is  doubtless  aware,  may  be  of 
all  sorts  and  sizes,  and  I  will  now  try  to  entertain  him 
with  a  short  story  of  a  long  one.  It  is  of  the  "  dead- 
water  "  variety,  and  if  he  hasn't  had  enough  hunting 
experience  to  know  exactly  what  a  "  dead-water  "  is,  I 
will  tell  him.  In  a  big-game  country  when  a  stream 
widens  out  to  several  times  its  normal  breadth  and 
then  flows  so  lazily  that  the  current  is  almost  imper- 
ceptible, that  part  of  the  stream  is  known  to  the 
hunter  as  a  "  dead-water."  It  is  a  place  full  of  attrac- 
tion for  him,  and  for  the  best  of  reasons.  Its  banks 
are  usually  covered  with  a  growth  of  rich  grasses  and 
low  bushes,  while  near  the  shore  various  plants  of  the 
lily-tribe  lift  themselves  above  the  water  and  nod  their 
tops  to  the  breeze.  If  the  location  be  secluded,  as  it 
generally  is,  and  there  be  enough  growing  timber 
around  it  to  safely  shelter  the  approach  of  the  moose 
and  the  deer,  the  hunter  is  pretty  sure  to  find  their 
tracks  along  the  shore  and  in  the  soft  clinging  mud. 
Such  a  place  is  a  veritable  paradise  for  these  shy  crea- 
tures. Here  the  antlered  moose  delights  to  spend  his 

174 


A  DEAD-WATER  VIGIL  175 

early  mornings  wading  and  drinking  and  nibbling  his 
breakfast  from  the  tops  and  stems  of  the  lily-pads. 
Here,  too,  the  deer  gluts  his  or  her  appetite,  but  con- 
fines it  to  the  tender  shoots  and  leaves  of  the  hazel 
and  alder  bushes. 

Hence  it  is  that  the  "  dead-water  "  has  a  magnetic 
hold  on  the  hunter.  The  top-notch  of  his  ambition 
and  desire  is  to  catch  the  glimpse  of  a  bull-moose 
wading  the  stream  and  indulging  here  in  his  lily -pad 
breakfast.  Then,  if  the  glimpse  be  long  enough  to 
allow  the  "  sport "  to  cock  his  rifle  and  bring  it  to  his 
shoulder,  the  bull  will  probably  finish  his  breakfast ; 
although  the  "  finish  "  may  not  be  over-pleasant  to  his 
antlered  majesty. 

Some  four  miles  from  Lake  Nictau — the  source  of 
the  Tobique  River — lies  a  favorite  resort  for  game. 
A  spotted  trail  leads  to  it,  running  over  two  or  three 
good-sized  ridges  and  in  the  most  erratic  fashion.  I 
have  made  at  least  a  dozen  trips  over  that  trail  and 
therefore  am  familiar  enough  with  it  to  know  of  what 
I  speak.  Who  the  man  is,  or  was,  that  "  spotted  "  the 
trail  I  am  not  prepared  to  say,  but  I  do  say  that  the 
crooked,  crab-like  manner  in  which  it  climbs  up  and 
down  and  over  those  ridges  is  strongly  suggestive  of 
one  thing — and  it  relates  to  the  man  himself.  Before 
taking  up  his  little  ax  and  starting  on  his  spotting 
task  he  must  have  gone  to  Sir  John  Barleycorn  for 
instructions. 


176  SPORT   INDEED 

On  my  last  visit  to  this  place  I  saw  a  large  cow- 
moose  and  a  two-pronged  bull  quietly  feeding  down 
the  stream.  I  came  close  to  them  without  their  know- 
ing it — so  close,  indeed,  that  I  could  have  slaughtered 
both,  and  with  a  single  bullet.  But  I  had  no  desire  to 
trouble  either  of  them.  The  bull  was  too  young  and 
too  small  to  fill  my  fancy ;  and  as  for  the  cow,  her 
sex  made  her  sacred  and  as  safe  from  the  range  of  my 
rifle  as  a  babe  at  the  breast  of  its  mother.  After 
watching  them  awhile  and  grumbling  at  the  bull  for 
not  coming  into  the  world  a  few  years  sooner,  I  saw 
them  go  leisurely  on  their  way  down  the  stream  and 
then  pass  from  my  sight. 

To  the  guide  and  myself  this  incident  was  full  of 
meaning.  It  gave  us  reason  to  believe  that  a  bull  of 
riper  years — the  sire,  maybe,  of  the  youth  we  had 
seen — might  be  wandering  about  somewhere  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  therefore  we  determined  to  spend 
a  few  nights  there  for  the  purpose  of  making  his  ac- 
quaintance. My  guide  had  brought  blankets  with 
him,  and  spreading  these  under  the  shelter  of  some 
alder  bushes  and  close  to  the  water's  edge  I  lay  my- 
self down,  but  not  to  sleep. 

The  night  was  cold  and  clear.  There  was  no  moon 
and  the  darkness  was  intense.  And  there  under  the 
alders  I  lay  with  "  head  on  ground,"  opening  wide  my 
ear-gates  for  the  free  entrance  of  every  sound,  let  it 
come  from  whatever  quarter  it  might.  Whether  the 


A  DEAD-WATER  VIGIL  177 

eyes  of  a  cat  would  have  helped  me  to  pierce  the 
darkness  I  know  not,  but  my  own  were  certainly  of 
little  use  for  that  purpose. 

"When  the  sun  dropped  behind  the  ridges  and  this 
duskiness  began  to  creep  over  the  face  of  Nature,  it 
seemed  as  if  the  thoughtful  dame  had  given  all  her 
creatures — except  her  noctivagant  rakes — quick  notice 
to  finish  whatever  task  they  had  on  hand  and  get  to 
bed.  Black  ducks  and  cranes  and  birds  of  every 
feather,  save  the  owl's,  all  were  in  a  skurry,  and  each 
in  a  full- tilt-race  to  be  the  first  to  reach  his  roost. 
The  red  squirrel  heard  the  notice,  stopped  his  chatter, 
and  was  soon  cuddled  up  with  his  head  pillowed  on 
his  bushy  tail. 

To  the  hunter  these  red  squirrels  are  something  of 
a  nuisance.  They  abound  in  this  section,  as  they  do 
in  every  northern  forest,  and  keep  up  a  constant  chat- 
tering, mingled  at  times  with  a  sort  of  ventriloquistic 
laughter  which  is  very  amusing  to  the  hunter — if  he 
is  not  on  the  lookout  for  big  game.  But  when  he  is 
stealthily  creeping  along,  picking  out  a  soft  spot  to 
place  his  foot  where  it  will  make  the  least  noise,  and 
halting  and  listening  at  every  step  for  some  sound 
which  may  tell  him  that  the  animal  he  is  looking  for 
is  not  far  away,  then  the  laughter  of  the  bushy-tailed 
rascal  is  not  so  amusing.  It  is  just  then,  however, 
that  the  little  fellow  delights  to  get  in  his  mischievous 
work  and  he  does  it  most  effectively.  He  will  make 


1 78  SPORT   INDEED 

for  a  tree,  dash  to  the  top  of  it  and  then  down  again, 
dancing  over  the  logs  that  may  be  in  his  way  but 
keeping  a  constant  eye  on  the  hunter.  Then  perhaps 
he  will  stop  his  gambols  for  a  moment  to  bark  and 
chatter  at  the  "  sport,"  winding  up  with  a  peal  of  de- 
risive cachination  that  sounds — to  the  victim's  im- 
agination— something  like:  "What  do  you  want 
here  ?  You're  a  queer-looking  chap,  anyway.  Why 
you've  got  no  tail !  Here,  I'll  lend  you  a  bit  of 
mine ! "  With  this  generous  offer  he  will  skip  out  of 
sight,  and  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one  that  if  a 
deer  or  a  moose  or  a  caribou  has  been  within  earshot 
of  that  laugh,  he,  too,  has  done  some  skipping  of  the 
same  sort. 

And  now  to  return  to  my  vigil.  I  heard  a  cow- 
moose  step  softly  into  the  water,  drink  her  fill  and 
then  as  softly  leave  the  stream  and  depart  from  my 
neighborhood.  The  next  morning  we  saw  by  her 
tracks  that  she  was  a  cow,  and  the  same  old  cow  we 
had  seen  in  the  daylight. 

The  dead-water,  upon  whose  side  I  was  couching, 
lies  in  a  wide  hollow.  On  either  side  of  it  rises  a  tall 
ridge  covered  with  trees  of  spruce  and  white  birch, 
and  whatever  sounds  are  made  on  the  one  ridge  are 
echoed  from  the  other.  I  heard  the  bark  of  a  fox  on 
my  side  of  the  hollow,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  an  an- 
swer came  from  the  other  side  ;  and  then  another  bark 
and  another  answer,  and  these  kept  duplicating  until  it 


A  DEAD-WATER  VIGIL  181 

seemed  as  if  the  tribe  of  Keynard  had  sole  possession 
of  the  ridges.  Their  music  was  not  altogether  pleas- 
ing. The  bark  of  a  fox  is  sharp  and  snarling  and  the 
melody  made  by  a  chorus  of  them  will  out-snarl  and 
out-reach  any  amateur  quartet  that  ever  punished  the 
ears  of  an  unoffending  audience. 

The  night  dragged  on.  I  grew  sleepy,  tired  and 
hungry,  while  my  spirit  was  depressed  and  my  pa- 
tience worn  out  by  the  tedious  length  and  depth  of 
the  darkness.  I  will  say  here — and  I  am  rather  proud 
to  say  it — that  I  have  no  temperament,  nor  any  other 
quality  that  fits  me  for  a  comrade  with  the  owl ;  at 
least,  none  that  could  rob  me  of  my  taste  for  the  light 
of  day.  Therefore,  if  the  bird  of  ill-omen  insists  upon 
shrieking  his  "  songs  of  death  "  he  must  do  it  in  other 
company  than  mine.  I'll  have  none  of  him.  But 
here  is  a  question  that  may  stagger  the  wit  of  the 
Shakespearean  reader  to  answer :  How,  in  the  name  of 
all  that  is  incredible,  did  the  great  dramatist  discover 
merriment  in  the  note  of  an  owl  ?  Yet  he  did  so,  un- 
less his  "  merry  "  epithet  in  Hiems'  song,  at  the  end 
of  Love's  Labor's  Lost,  be  one  of  his  gibes : 

"  When  blood  is  nipped  and  ways  be  foul, 
Then  nightly  sings  the  staring  owl 

Tn-who  ! 

Tu-whit !    Tu-who  !    A  merry  note 
While  greasy  Joan  doth  keel  the  pot." 

No,  no,  William,  my  boy  ;  though  there  may  be  much 


i8i  SPORT   INDEED 

wisdom  in  the  stare  of  an  owl,  the  merriment  in  his 
song  is  rather  too  funereal  to  tickle  the  ears  of 
Hilarity. 

There  are  some  who  believe  the  owl  to  be  "  well- 
heeled  "  with  weather- wisdom ;  a  second  edition  of 
Old  Probs  in  feather  binding.  They  say  that  when 
he  chooses  a  tree  by  the  edge  of  a  stream  or  lake  from 
which  to  shriek  his  melancholy  forecast,  there  is  rain 
coming  and  plenty  of  it.  But  when  he  moves  his 
music  stand  away  from  the  water  and  fixes  it  upon 
the  ridges,  fair  weather  is  close  at  hand.  I  must  say 
that  my  own  experience  can  partially  endorse  him  as 
a  weather  prophet.  During  my  vigil  he  perched  him- 
self upon  a  tree  near  the  water's  edge  and  near 
enough  to  my  watching  place  to  give  my  ears  the  full 
benefit  of  his  melody.  His  prophecy  came  true,  for  it 
was  quickly  followed  by  a  hard  rain  accompanied 
with  a  hurricane-like  wind. 

The  owl,  however,  was  not  the  only  forecaster  of 
the  storm.  Before  it  broke,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
dead  calm,  I  heard  the  fall  of  a  tree  some  two  hun- 
dred yards  away.  "Do  you  hear  that?"  said  the 
guide.  "  There's  going  to  be  heavy  weather.  When- 
ever a  tree  falls  in  a  calm  like  this,  there's  a  big  storm 
coming,  sure." 

Now,  I  knew  that  Nature  sometimes  foreruns  her 
storms  with  a  calm,  but  did  not  know  that  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  mixing  it  up  with  the  fall  of  an  old  tree. 


A  DEAD-WATER  VIGIL  183 

If  she  is,  it  is  a  curious  habit,  and  being  curious  let 
us  consider  it  curiously.  She  has  endowed  her  trees 
with  life,  why  then  should  she  not  have  given  them 
the  needed  senses  to  make  their  lives  worth  living? 
And  she  has  done  so,  if  we  can  believe  those  ancient 
writers  who  have  made  the  subject  their  study.  They 
say  that  all  vegetals  belong  to  one  sex  or  the  other ; 
that  they  know  what  love  is,  and  are  as  liable  as 
mortals  to  become  the  victims  of  its  fury.  Claudian, 
in  referring  to  Cupid's  sway  in  the  vegetal  kingdom, 
says :  "  Trees  are  influenced  by  love,  and  every  flour- 
ishing tree  in  turn  feels  the  passion.  Palms  nod 
mutual  vows,  poplar  sighs  to  poplar,  plane  to  plane, 
and  alder  to  alder."  The  palms,  however,  seem  to  be 
the  most  susceptible.  Constantine  says :  "  You  might 
see  two  palm  trees  bend  affectionately  toward  each 
other  and  stretch  out  their  boughs  for  an  embrace 
and  a  kiss ; "  and  Galen  avows  that  they  "  Sometimes 
become  sick  for  love  and  pine  away  and  die." 

Now  if  all  this  be  gospel,  why  shouldn't  a  tree  have 
enough  instinct  to  foreknow  the  coming  of  a  storm  ? 
Indeed,  if  it  had  lived  long  enough,  it  might  have  no 
need  of  calling  on  the  aid  of  instinct.  Suppose  its 
hoary  top  had  battled  with  the  storms  of  a  hundred 
years  or  more,  wouldn't  the  old  tree  be  likely  to  have 
a  rheumatic  limb  or  two  ?  Wouldn't  it  have  as  good 
a  title  to  the  "rheumatiz"  as  any  that  antiquated 
humanity  could  boast  ?  And  wouldn't  the  twinges 


184  SPORT   INDEED 

furnish  the  same  foreknowledge  of  bad  weather  ? 
You  may  admit  all  this  and  still  ask :  "  But  why 
should  the  old  tree  give  up  the  ghost  and  tumble  over 
at  the  approach  of  what  it  knows  is  coming  ?  "  Ah, 
reader,  you  must  go  to  Nature  herself  for  an  answer 
to  your  question.  It  may  be  that  the  tree  had  lived 
its  allotted  time  and  knew  it.  It  may  be  that  its 
foresight  saw  two  alternatives— to  tumble  over  or 
be  blown  down.  It  may  be  that  the  latter  would 
have  been  too  great  a  blow  for  its  pride,  and  there- 
fore it  embraced  the  former.  These,  of  course,  are 
only  "  may-bes,"  and  it  may  be  you  will  put  them  on 
your  list  of  "  mayn't-bes."  But  enough  of  this  digres- 
sion. 

I  have  said  that  my  spirits  were  losing  their  elas- 
ticity under  the  pressure  of  the  darkness.  Possibly 
you  think  that  an  enthusiastic  hunter  should  be  able 
to  bear  with  complacence  the  incidental  plagues  of 
his  trade,  however  unbearable  they  might  be  to  other 
people.  Perhaps  he  should,  yet  I  don't  hesitate  to 
aver  that  a  fruitless  watch  through  a  stretch  of  dark- 
ness— if  the  stretch  be  long  enough  and  black  enough 
— will  cool  the  enthusiasm  of  any  "  sport,"  even  though 
it  burn  with  the  fervor  of  Nimrod's. 

But  the  end  was  near.  A  faint  glow  began  to 
break  the  gloom  and  light  the  eastern  sky.  The  red 
squirrels  were  already  awake  and  busy  in  stuffing  my 
ears  with  their  bark  and  chatter ;  the  black  ducks  had 


A  DEAD-WATER  VIGIL  185 

left  their  water  roost  on  a  forage  for  breakfast ;  while 
the  cry  of  a  loon,  flying  over  Nictau  Lake,  and  miles 
away,  could  be  heard  hailing  the  coming  of  the  morn 
with  its  unearthly  notes  :  "  Ha !  ha !  Ha  !  ha !  " 


My  dead-water  vigil  was  over.  The  sun  peeped 
above  the  ridge-tops  and  saucily  threw  his  glances 
across  my  bed  of  boughs.  Hiding  my  face  from  his 
gaze,  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep  and  dream  and  treat  my 
slumbering  eyeballs  to  a  scene  that  in  their  wakeful 
moments  was  denied  them :  "  A  bull-moose  at  his 
breakfast  table." 


Dog-day  Advice. 

This  is  hot  weather,  gentlemen. 

— HENRY  iv. 

A  BIG  city,  in  the  midst  of  the  dog-days,  is  a  big 
cook-shop — a  huge  grill-room,  as  it  were,  wherein  the 
can't-get-aways  are  flopped  on  the  gridiron  of  Old 
Humidity  and  cooked  in  their  own  grease.  Man,  of 
course,  was  never  born  to  be  broiled,  and  common 
sense  says  he  will  avoid  the  process  if  he  can.  If  he 
can't  get  away  from  the  Old  General's  gridiron,  he  is 
somewhat  excusable  in  bowing  to  the  inevitable  and 
should  endure  it  philosophically — if  the  fat  be  not 
entirely  grilled  out  of  his  philosophy. 

But,  strange  to  say,  there  are  some  who  can  get 
away  and  don't.  "What  their  reasons  are,  'twould  be 
hard  to  say — unless  they  expect  a  long  spell  of  hot 
weather  in  the  next  world  and  would  season  them- 
selves for  it  in  this. 

Now,  whether  these  fellows  be  sports,  or  merely 
incogitant  chips  from  the  common  block  of  humanity, 
a  bit  of  advice  can  do  them  no  harm,  indeed  it  may 
do  them  a  deal  of  good,  and  will — if  their  seasoning 
theory  doesn't  stand  in  the  way  of  their  following  it. 
Here  it  is : 

186 


DOG-DAY  ADVICE  187 

"When  their  mind  and  body  are  both  "  knocked  out " 
in  their  dog-day  rounds  with  Old  Sol ;  when  they 
become  tired  of  dodging  flies  and  mosquitoes  and 
perspirations  and  sunstrokes  ;  when  lemonades  and 
sodas  and  mint  juleps  and  palm-leaf  fans  et  id  genus 
omne,  have  resolved  into  vanity  and  vexation  of 
spirit ;  then  is  it  high  time  to  pick  up  their  duds  and 
over-roasted  remains  and  get.  Get  where  ?  Well, 
let  them  try  a  water-trip  to  St.  John,  New  Brunswick. 
The  transition  from  their  cook-shop  to  the  ocean  air 
will  be  magical.  The  sun  may  still  be  hot,  but  only 
pleasantly  so,  for  the  cool  and  salty  breezes  temper 
its  rays  and  make  even  an  overcoat  a  welcome  ad- 
dition to  comfort.  I  speak  knowingly,  for  my 
younger  son  and  myself  once  took  the  trip  prepara- 
tory to  making  a  sporting  pilgrimage  to  the  head- 
waters of  the  Nipisiguit  River,  in  search  of  the  giant 
moose  and  his  partner  of  the  forests,  the  caribou,  and 
where  we  also  hoped  to  interview  one  or  more  bears, 
and  try  the  luring  qualities  of  our  artificial  flies  on 
the  square-tailed  trout  and  his  big  relative,  the 
salmon. 

This  wilderness  of  swamp,  bog,  forest,  river  and 
lake  is  a  delectable  one  for  the  hunter,  and  to  reach  it 
he  must  travel  a  whole  day  by  rail,  although  the  dis- 
tance as  the  crow  flies  is  less  than  a  hundred  miles. 
Then  comes  a  vehicle  ride  of  thirty-five  miles.  (The 
ride  was  formerly  over  an  old  lumber  road  and  in  an 


i88  SPORT   INDEED 

old  lumber  wagon,  consuming  some  twelve  hours'  time. 
Now  there  is  a  good  road  and  the  conveyance  is  all  that 
could  be  desired.)  The  next  day,  if  the  weather  and 
the  water  both  are  fit,  he  takes  to  his  canoe  and  gets 
over  as  much  of  another  thirty-five  miles  as  his  muscle 
can  master.  If  the  water  be  not  fit,  he  must  walk 
and  tote  his  canoe  and  stuff.  This  must  needs  be 
hard  work — at  least  for  the  guide — and  yet  it  is  only 
the  beginning  of  a  month's  or  six  weeks'  toil.  But  he 
shouldn't  be  discouraged  and  won't  be  if  his  veins 
run  with  the  blood  of  a  sportsman.  The  toil  may  fag 
his  physical  framework  a  little,  yet  he  may  find  in  it 
an  exhilarating  oil  for  his  metaphysical  machinery. 

And  now  to  return  to  the  city  of  St.  John.  It  is 
scrupulously  clean — indeed,  it  couldn't  be  otherwise, 
being  situated  upon  high  hills  and  constantly  wind- 
swept either  from  the  ocean  or  the  spruce  forest  of 
the  valley  of  the  St.  John.  While  the  Union  Jack 
that  floats  from  many  buildings  and  from  the  ship- 
ping in  the  harbor  speaks  plainly  of  the  city's  nation- 
ality, yet  a  great  portion  of  those  who  travel  its 
streets  are  subjects  of  Uncle  Sam.  St.  John's  busi- 
ness men  all  have  a  high  regard  for  the  depth  of 
Sam's  pocket  and  look  upon  it  as  unfathomable.  His 
dollars,  whether  silver  or  paper,  are  deemed  quite  as 
good  as  their  own,  and  nothing  is  said  about 
exchange. 

According  to  the  custom's  rule  we  had  to  pay  a 


DOG-DAY  ADVICE  189 

deposit  upon  our  rifles  and  camera  (this  was  refunded 
when  we  finished  our  hunting  trip  and  returned  to 
St.  John),  but  the  officer  who  demanded  the  deposit 
did  it  in  such  a  gentlemanly  way  we  were  almost 
under  the  impression  he  was  doing  us  a  favor. 

New  Brunswick  must  surely  gather  in  a  goodly 
store  of  greenbacks  from  the  sale  of  hunting  licenses. 
Every  would-be  hunter  from  outside  the  province  is 
required  to  pay  thirty  dollars  for  the  privilege  of 
hunting  within  its  limits ;  and  in  return  for  this  he 
not  only  gets  his  hunting  privilege,  but  is  protected 
from  the  pot-hunter.  The  open  season  commences 
September  15th,  whereas  in  Maine  the  open  moose 
season  starts  October  15th,  and  caribou  cannot  be 
killed  there  now,  nor  for  five  years  to  come.  Hence 
it  is  that  aspiring  Nimrods  make  .their  hegira  from  all 
parts  of  the  land  and  encompass  the  hunting  grounds 
of  the  valley  of  the  St.  John,  the  Kestigouche,  the 
Nipisiguit  and  the  Tobique  Eivers.  All  go  into  camp 
with  the  proverbial  hope  of  the  hunter.  But  the  re- 
sult is  something  of  a  lottery — all  cannot  be  success- 
ful ;  and  like  other  lotteries  there  are  plenty  of  blanks. 


A  Tale  of  Gallantry  and  Hunger 

Upon  my  life  'tis  true,  sir. 

— TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 

IT  was  a  rainy,  cold  and  disagreeable  morning  when 
my  son  and  myself  left  St.  John,  N.  B.,  for  Nictau 
Lake.  We  had  donned  our  heavy  underwear  when 
we  started — 6:25  A.  M. — but  when  we  reached  Perth 
Junction  on  the  St.  John  River  at  two  o'clock  the 
sun  came  out  and  ran  the  thermometer  up  to  93° 
in  the  shade.  A  return  to  light  underwear  became 
necessary  for  our  comfort  and  we  looked  about  us  for 
some  place,  in  or  around  the  little  station,  where  such 
a  change  could  be  made  with  decency.  We  saw  none. 
However  there  was  a  forty-five-minute  wait  before 
the  train  started  on  its  way  up  the  Tobique  Valley, 
and  I  made  use  of  the  time  in  hunting  up  some  spot 
secluded  enough  to  hide  a  bashful  man  from  the 
outside  world  while  he  changed  his  inside  toggery. 
Walking  down  the  railroad  track  I  came  to  a  gorge 
in  a  high  hill  and  behind  its  shelter  accomplished  my 
toilet,  but  not  without  some  shivering ;  for,  though 
the  thermometer  stood,  as  I  have  said,  at  93°  in  the 
shade,  the  temperature  in  that  gorge  was  very  dif- 
ferent. A  chilling,  goose-flesh  wind  scurried  through 

190 


GALLANTRY  AND  HUNGER        191 

it  and  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  its  shadow  and  into 
the  sunshine. 

"When  the  train  backed  down  to  the  station,  pre- 
paring for  its  start,  I  found  on  the  platform  a  Bangor 
taxidermist  whose  reputation  in  that  line  is  almost 
national.  He  was  bound  for  nearly  the  same  hunt- 
ing ground  as  myself,  as  was  also  a  noted  salmon 
fisherman  with  his  two  sons.  The  train,  which  should 
run  every  day — for  it  is  so  nominated  in  the  bond — 
ran  only  every  other  day,  and  was  made  up  of  freight 
cars,  gravel  cars  and  a  couple  of  passenger  coaches. 
Among  the  passengers  were  a  number  of  Indian 
guides,  lumbermen,  a  sprinkling  of  sportsmen,  and 
last,  but  not  least,  some  very  pretty  women.  The 
schedule  time  from  Perth  to  the  end  of  the  line  is  two 
hours  lacking  five  minutes.  As  the  distance  is  only 
twenty-eight  miles,  it  would  seem  that  an  engine 
with  any  ambition  in  its  piston  rod  ought  to  be  able 
to  "get  in  on  time."  But  this  particular  engine  is 
not  particular  whether  it  does  or  does  not  meet  the 
schedule's  demand,  and  the  common  report  is  that  it 
does  not. 

"When  we  were  about  half-way  on  the  trip  a  comely- 
looking  young  woman  told  the  conductor  she  wished 
to  get  off.  "When  he  stopped  the  train,  it  chanced  to 
be  on  a  high  embankment  at  the  bottom  of  which  ran 
a  road,  with  the  Tobique  River  just  beyond  it.  The 
young  woman  now  left  the  car,  the  conductor  helping 


192  SPORT   INDEED 

her  down  the  steps  from  the  platform.  I  looked 
from  the  car  window  and  saw  her  standing  there 
with  a  huge  telescope  in  one  hand  and  a  bundle  of 
something  in  the  other.  She  evidently  had  a  desire 
to  get  down  that  steep  embankment,  but,  laden  as 
she  was,  lacked  the  courage  to  try  it.  None  of  the 
train  hands  showing  any  disposition  to  help  the  young 
lady  out  of  her  dilemma,  I  jumped  down  the  car 
steps,  took  her  telescope  and  bundle,  told  her  to  wait 
for  a  moment,  then  scrambled  down  the  hill  with  my 
load  and  deposited  it  at  the  bottom.  Then  climbing 
half-way  up  again  I  beckoned  to  her  to  come  on. 
She  came,  and  locking  arms  we  commenced  our  de- 
scent. Around  like  a  top  we  spun,  sliding  and  slip- 
ping and  pirouetting  till  we  reached  the  bottom. 
The  performance  seemed  highly  entertaining  to  the 
passengers,  who  choked  the  car  windows  with  their 
heads,  grinning  their  delight  and  shouting  their  ap- 
plause when  it  was  over. 

I  have  said  the  young  woman  was  good-looking, 
and  youth  and  beauty  are  sharp  goads  to  a  man's 
gallantry ;  but  I  don't  wish  it  to  be  inferred  that 
they  were  the  only  spurs  to  mine.  Had  she  been  as 
old  as  sin  and  as  ugly  as  its  father,  and  this  accom- 
modation train  accommodating  enough  to  wait  for 
me,  I  might  perhaps  have  further  shown  my  gal- 
lantry by  toting  her  baggage  to  its  destination.  And 
then  perhaps  I  mightn't.  However,  she  picked  up 


GALLANTRY  AND  HUNGER        195 

her  telescope  and  bundle  and  started  for  her  home. 
I  watched  her  as  I  stood  on  the  rear  platform  of  the 
back  car  and  saw  her  step  on  the  porch  of  a  cozy-look- 
ing house.  Two  chubby  tots  ran  to  meet  her,  clapping 
their  hands  and  puckering  up  their  little  mouths  for 
a  kiss.  Before  obliging  them  she  turned,  looked  back 
at  the  train,  waved  her  thanks  and  a  good-bye  to  the 
man  who  had  helped  her  in  her  time  of  trouble,  and 
then,  like  "  Ships  that  pass  in  the  night,"  we  parted. 

At  Plaster  Rock  we  took  a  wagon  for  a  night's  ride 
to  Reilly  Brook,  twenty-eight  miles  up  the  river.  We 
started  at  quarter  to  8  P.  M.  reaching  the  Brook  at 
1  A.  M.  At  five  we  were  off  for  a  wagon  trip  to  the 
Forks — a  distance  of  seven  miles — and  we  enjoyed  it. 
The  air  was  "  nipping  and  eager  "  ;  myriads  of  spider 
webs  were  spun  by  the  roadside  and  hung  from  the 
bushes,  trees,  and  logs,  coated  with  the  night  frost 
and  glittering  in  the  morning  sun  like  gems  in  a 
jeweler's  window. 

At  the  Forks  we  were  joined  by  our  canoemen  and 
also  the  chiefs  of  the  hunting  camps  to  which  we  were 
bound.  At  quarter  to  eight  we  left  the  Forks,  taking 
to  our  canoes  which  were  to  be  poled  up  the  river  to 
Red  Brook — a  distance  of  twenty  miles.  The  stream 
winds  in  a  tortuous  course  over  a  rocky  bed,  and,  as 
the  water  is  low  at  this  time  of  year,  poling  the 
canoes  was  laborious  work  and  hard  on  the  men. 
To  lighten  the  load  of  my  canoe  I  suggested — and 


196  SPORT   INDEED 

it  was  so  arranged — that  I  should  get  out  and  walk 
through  the  woods,  meeting  them  further  up  and  at 
a  point  where  the  road  and  stream  met  again,  some 
two  miles  away.  I  took  my  rifle  and  started.  The 
walking  was  good,  and  my  observation,  therefore, 
was  not  interrupted  by  any  necessity  for  picking  my 
steps.  I  saw  about  me  fresh  signs  of  moose  and 
many  indications-  of  caribou.  In  fact  I  became  so 
much  interested  that  I  forgot  all  about  my  canoe  and 
for  what  I  was  walking.  I  had  already  passed  the 
meeting  point  without  knowing  it,  and  it  now  lay 
behind  me  a  mile  or  more. 

The  road  wound  back  over  the  ridges  quite  a  dis- 
tance from  the  river,  but  I  thought  it  wouldn't  <be 
wise  to  retrace  my  steps  as  I  might  thereby  miss 
the  canoes,  and  therefore  resolved  to  go  on  and  take 
whatever  chances  might  be  ahead  of  me. 

About  eleven  o'clock  I  heard  rifle  shots  which  my 
fancy  told  me  were  signals  from  the  canoe  party.  I 
fired  three  shots  in  reply  and  waited  for  a  response  ; 
but  none  came.  Did  my  fancy  make  a  mistake  about 
their  being  signals  ?  Perhaps  ;  but  I  soon  heard  an- 
other sort  of  signal  about  which  my  fancy  could  make 
no  mistake — I  was  getting  "  as  hungry  as  the  sea." 

Now,  a  hungry  stomach  is  a  multi-sceptred  poten- 
tate. Despot,  autocrat,  oligarch  and  "  cock  of  the 
walk  "  generally,  it  has  no  ears  for  argument,  no  ap- 
petite for  excuses.  It  has  plenty  of  jaw,  at  times,  but 


GALLANTRY  AND  HUNGER        197 

there  is  no  flippancy,  no  circumlocution,  no  roundabout 
method  in  it,  and  when  it  speaks  it  insists  on  being 
listened  to.  The  old  poet,  Homer,  discovered  all  this 
some  three  thousand  years  ago  and  gave  his  discovery 
to  the  world  in  words  of  unmistakable  sincerity: 
"  There  is  nothing  more  importunate  than  a  hungry 
stomach.  It  allows  no  man  to  forget  it,  whatever  be 
his  cares  and  sorrows."  If  we  are  to  believe  his  biog- 
raphers, the  old  fellow  was  a  sound  authority  on  the 
importunity  of  hungry  stomachs.  Like  some  others 
of  his  trade,  he  was  bothered  with  one  himself,  and  its 
clamors  often  kept  him  busy  in  scraping  together 
enough  bread  to  quiet  them. 

But  let  us  leave  Homer's  predicament  and  return  to 
my  own.  Perhaps  if  I  had  been  accustomed  to  taking 
my  hash  in  far-between  instalments  or  none  at  all  I 
might  have  tolerated  the  situation  with  calmness. 
Custom  is  a  marvelous  transmuter  of  the  disagreeable 
into  the  delectable.  "  Custom  alters  nature  itself  ;  " 
and  we  have  all  manner  of  authority  for  believing  the 
proverb  to  be  true.  That  literary  nomad,  Eobert 
Burton,  goes  so  far  as  to  declare  that  "  Custom  makes 
even  bad  meats  wholesome  "  ;  and  Shakespeare,  too, 
attests  its  miraculous  transmuting  power.  If  then  it 
be  potent  enough  to  transform  bad  meats  into  whole- 
some ones  and  grave-digging  into  a  delightful  occupa- 
tion, why  might  it  not  make  hunger  in  a  man  "  a 
property  of  easiness  "  ?  Unfortunately,  however,  my 


ig8  SPORT   INDEED 

custom  runs  in  a  different  groove.  I  have  been  used 
to  "eat  when  I  have  stomach  and  wait  for  no  man's 
leisure " :  therefore  the  promise  of  a  long-drawn  in- 
terim of  not  eating  at  all  was  anything  but  pleasing. 

It  was  now  twelve  o'clock.  I  had  no  matches  with 
me,  having  in  a  very  unsportsman-like  manner  left 
them  in  the  canoe,  together  with  my  compass  and 
other  necessary  things  which  a  hunter  should  never 
run  the  risk  of  being  without.  But  even  if  I  had 
brought  the  matches  and  built  me  a  fire  I  had  nothing 
for  the  fire  to  cook. 

My  stomach  meanwhile  was  getting  noisy  in  its  de- 
mands, and  to  quiet  it  I  searched  among  the  bushes 
with  the  hope  of  finding  a  few  raspberries.  I  did  find 
a  few — some  half-dozen,  and,  though  tasty  enough  to 
the  palate,  I  soon  discovered  that  six  of  them  made  a 
slim  stopper  for  the  gap  in  a  hungry  stomach. 

After  finishing  my  "  light  lunch "  I  took  up  my 
tramp  and  a  couple  of  miles  of  it  brought  me  to  a  de- 
serted logging  camp.  Its  door  stood  invitingly  open, 
and  walking  in  I  found  a  good  cooking  stove,  a  few 
handfuls  of  flour  in  the  bottom  of  a  barrel,  also  a  salt- 
pork  barrel.  The  latter  was  partly  full  of  brine,  on 
the  top  of  which  floated  a  little  lump  of  fat  pork. 
And  now  for  a  match  !  My  kingdom  for  a  match ! 
I  searched  through  that  camp  high  and  low.  No 
Klondike  digger,  hungry  for  his  shining  nugget,  ever 
searched  for  it  with  more  eagerness  than  did  I  for  a 


GALLANTRY  AND  HUNGER        199 

glimpse  of  a  miserable  little  match.  My  search  was 
finally  rewarded.  Turning  over  an  old  dish-rag,  I 
discovered  a  box — an  unmistakable  match-box.  I 
seized  it  with  trepidation.  What  if  it  should  be 
empty  ?  Match-boxes  have  a  chronic  habit  of  that 
sort.  I  tore  off  the  lid  and  found  that  my  fears  were 
almost,  but  not  quite,  realized.  One  solitary  match 
remained  alone,  like  Tom  Moore's  "  Last  Rose  of  Sum- 
mer," all  its  lovely  companions  faded  and  gone. 
But  one  was  enough  and  I  soon  had  a  fire  burning. 
Then  I  put  the  flour  into  a  pan  I  found  upon  the 
stove,  and  with  a  little  water  from,  the  river — which 
flows  near  the  camp — mixed  it  into  a  firm  dough.  I 
now  put  the  piece  of  pork  into  a  frying-pan  that  was 
hanging  in  the  camp,  and  placed  it  on  the  fire.  Then 
I  formed  the  dough  into  ten  little  cakes,  putting  them 
into  the  hot  pork-fat  and  turning  them  over  and  over 
until  they  were  nicely  browned.  My  dinner  was  now 
ready  for  me  and  I  was  quite  ready  for  my  dinner. 
Now  it  is  said  : 

"  The  art  of  our  necessities  is  strange 
That  can  make  vile  things  precious." 

Yery  true  ;  but  I  can  tell  you  there  was  no  vileness 
about  my  dough  cakes,  although  there  was  plenty  of 
preciousness,  and  I  sat  me  down  in  front  of  them  with 
an  appetite  that  a  king  might  possibly  envy ;  but 
whether  he  would  or  not,  I  am  sure  that  no  man,  king 
or  no  king,  ever  squeezed  more  enjoyment  out  of  his 


200  SPORT    INDEED 

fantastic  banquet  of  strange  dishes,  than  did  I  out  of 
those  ten  little  dough  cakes. 

The  Tobique  River,  as  I  have  said,  runs  close  to  this 
camp,  and  after  finishing  my  dinner  I  sat  down  to 
watch  the  trout  in  one  of  its  pools. 

The  river  consists  mainly  of  shallow  water  falling 
over  stony  ledges,  and  has  a  rocky  and  slippery  bot- 
tom. Yet  it  is  hard  to  find  a  river  with  more  enticing 
pools  for  the  angler — pools  profound  in  their  depths 
and  glorious  in  their  crystal  clearness — pools  where 
the  salmon  lie  in  wait  for  their  breakfast  and  ready  to 
give  the  angler  all  the  enjoyment  he  wants. 

My  reverie  was  broken  up  by  the  sound  of  a  whistle. 
I  looked  around  and  saw  some  one  coming  up  the 
road,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  him.  It  was  my  son.  He 
had  become  anxious  about  me,  and  had  been  piloted 
to  the  camp  by  one  of  the  men.  He  it  was  who  fired 
the  signal  shots,  but  he  had  heard  none  in  return. 

While  we  sat  together  waiting  for  the  canoe  to 
come  up  we  saw  a  superb  salmon  fully  two  feet  long 
rise  to  the  top  of  the  water.  The  youth  tried  a  shot 
at  him  with  his  rifle ;  but  I  believe  the  salmon  is  still 
there. 

And  now,  once  more  we  were  in  our  canoe  and  on 
our  way  up  the  river. 

In  the  afternoon  a  cow-moose  crossed  the  stream  in 
front  of  us,  but  seemed  to  take  as  little  interest  in  us 
as  we  did  in  her  ladyship.  At  dusk  we  reached  Red 


GALLANTRY  AND  HUNGER       203 

Brook,  and  on  Wednesday  morning  \ve  were  up  and 
off  again  for  the  last  part  of  our  journey — the  hardest 
part  of  all — twelve  miles  of  poling  ;  quite  enough  to 
try  a  canoeman's  patience  as  well  as  his  muscles. 
At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  camp. 


A  Beardless  Sport 

You  are  a  young  huntsman. 

— TITUS  ANDROXICUS. 

MY  younger  son,  who  has  been  my  companion  on 
many  of  my  hunting  trips,  is  as  much  a  lover  of  the 
sport  as  I  am ;  and  my  efforts,  as  his  tutor,  to  teach 
his  young  idea  how  to  shoot  have  been  so  successful 
that  he  now  is — or  thinks  he  is — a  better  shot  than  his 
father.  However,  he  never  boasts  of  his  superiority, 
and  his  modesty  in  this  respect  is  so  conspicuous  that 
I  sometimes  suspect  that  the  buck  fever,  or  its  remem- 
brance, lies  at  the  bottom  of  it.  This  disease  among 
hunters — I  don't  think  I  am  far  out  of  the  way  in  call- 
ing it  a  "  disease " — is,  in  one  respect,  very  like  the 
measles  among  children  ;  every  sport  is  liable  to  have 
it  once.  In  its  mysterious  attack  it  gets  entire  con- 
trol of  his  nerves  and  at  a  most  inopportune  time. 
He  may  have  been  standing  for  an  hour  or  more,  with 
rifle  cocked,  waiting  eagerly  for  the  coming  of  a  buck 
that  in  "  doubling  his  tracks  "  will  be  sure  to  approach 
within  easy  reach  of  his  shot.  The  buck  does  ap- 
proach, bounding  towards  him  with  such  rapidity  that 
the  very  sight  upsets  the  nerves  of  the  green  hunter 
and  throws  his  anatomy  out  of  gear.  His  eyes  bulge, 
his  teeth  chatter,  his  knees  knock  together,  and  even 

204 


A  BEARDLESS  SPORT  205 

his  memory  is  so  far  dethroned  that  he  forgets  he  has 
a  rifle.  If  he  does  remember  it,  and  attempts  to  raise 
the  weapon  to  his  shoulder,  there  is  nothing  in  it  that 
is  likely  to  do  any  damage  to  the  buck,  for  its  wabbling 
muzzle  sends  the  ball  either  into  the  earth  or  among 
the  clouds.  Of  course  the  buck  bounds  away,  utterly 
unconscious  of  the  excitement  its  presence  has  caused. 
Its  instinct,  however,  may  suggest  that  a  buck's  life 
is  never  in  danger  from  the  ball  of  a  wabbling  rifle. 

'Twas  in  1894  that  the  "  buck  ague  "  attacked  my 
boy,  who  was  then  sixteen  years  of  age.  The  attack 
was  a  severe  one — quite  severe  enough  to  allow  the 
cause  of  it  to  bound  away  without  injury  to  its  limbs 
or  vitals. 

"We  were  camped  on  Eagle  Lake  in  Maine,  and  I 
will  now  tell  how  the  queer  disease  got  its  hold  upon 
the  youth.  He  was  in  a  canoe  with  his  guide,  pad- 
dling along  without  any  immediate  hope  of  a  chance 
to  use  his  rifle.  A  point  of  land  jutted  into  the  lake, 
and  as  the  canoe  rounded  it,  the  boy  saw  a  beautiful 
buck  standing  upon  the  bank  and  gazing  at  the  boat 
with  wondering  eyes  and  head  erect.  The  animal  was 
within  easy  rifle  shot  and  should  have  paid  a  life  pen- 
alty for  its  rash  confidence  and  curiosity. 

But  it  didn't.  The  buck  fever  had  gotten  hold  of 
the  youth's  nerves,  and  his  chattering  teeth  told 
plainly  ho\v  firm  the  hold  was.  He  did  manage  to 
raise  his  rifle,  but  when  he  tried  to  point  it  in  the 


206  SPORT   INDEED 

buck's  direction,  the  muzzle  began  to  wabble  and  box 
the  compass  in  a  fashion  that  boded  no  especial  harm 
to  the  buck.  In  the  midst  of  the  wabbling  the  youth 
pulled  the  trigger  and  the  hammer  fell,  but  whither 
the  ball  went  nobody  knew.  The  buck  was  in  too 
much  of  a  hurry  to  stop  and  inquire,  and  the  guide 
himself,  who  is  supposed  to  be  posted  in  such  matters, 
was  puzzled.  He  told  me  however,  in  confidence,  that 
judging  from  the  elevation  of  the  boy's  rifle  when  the 
hammer  fell,  the  ball  must  be  on  its  way  to  the  polar 
star. 

James — that  is  the  name  of  my  boy — was  woefully 
chagrined  over  the  effects  of  his  buck  ague,  and 
though  the  incident  occurred  in  '94,  the  passage  of 
the  years  hasn't  wiped  it  from  his  recollection. 

I  once  tried  to  console  him  with  the  story  of  my 
own  experience  in  that  line,  but  the  consolation  didn't 
seem  to  reach  the  proper  spot.  He  heard  me  through, 
and  then,  with  a  quiz  in  his  eye,  replied,  "  "Well,  father, 
I  feel  rather  sorry  for  both  of  us.  The  man  or  boy 
who  allows  the  sight  of  a  buck  to  set  his  teeth  on  the 
chatter  and  his  rifle  on  the  wabble  had  better  give  up 
hunting  and  stay  home  where  he  can  saw  wood,  and 
help  his  mother  wash  dishes  and  darn  stockings." 

It  wasn't  long,  however,  before  I  had  cause  to  be 
proud  of  my  boy. 

The  third  day  after  his  ague  attack  I  had  been  on  a 
morning's  hunt,  and  on  my  return  his  guide  came  to 


A  BEARDLESS  SPORT  209 

me  while  I  was  at  my  dinner,  and  carelessly  remarked, 
"  James  has  killed  a  young  bull  caribou."  I  went  on 
with  my  eating,  paying  little  or  no  attention  to  what 
he  said,  for  the  simple  reason  that  I  didn't  believe  it. 
A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  youth  himself  rushed  in 
with  a  flushed  face  and  tongue  almost  paralyzed  with 
delight. 

When  he  did  get  it  working,  he  said,  "  Father ! 
Father  !  Don't  you  want  to  go  with  me  and  see  my 
little  bull  ?  " 

"  Your  little  bull  ?  "  I  replied.  "  Bull  what  ?  Why 
don't  you  finish  the  word,  my  boy  ?  You  mean  your 
little  bull-frog  ?  " 

He  laughed  at  my  doubting  joke,  and  then  led  me 
through  the  brush  and  around  a  windfall  to  a  spot 
that  was  hallowed  ground  to  him  now,  for  on  it  lay  a 
four-year-old  spike-horn  caribou,  which  he  had  downed 
with  one  shot  from  his  40-44  rifle. 

The  caribou,  fat  and  glossy  as  a  thoroughbred 
young  Jersey  bull,  lay  on  the  soft  mossy  ground.  On 
one  side  stood  the  boy,  with  pride  and  joy  and  excite- 
ment beaming  in  his  face.  On  the  other  side  was  the 
guide,  amusing  himself  by  poking  fun  at  my  incre- 
dulity. I  looked  a  moment  at  the  picture — for  it  was 
a  picture,  and  one  worthy  the  pencil  of  an  artist — and 
at  that  moment  I  wasn't  sure  whether  my  pride  in 
my  boy  was  not  as  great  as  was  the  boy's  in  his  cari- 
bou. 


210  SPORT   INDEED 

After  viewing  the  caribou  over  and  over,  turning 
him  this  way  and  that  to  see  in  which  position  he 
would  look  best,  we  carried  him  to  the  camp  and  hung 
him  up  by  his  haunches,  in  company  with  a  bunch  of 
partridges  and  ducks  and  a  string  of  trout.  Then  we 
stood  a  little  way  off  and  pelted  him  with  an  amount 
of  admiration  that  even  a  dead  caribou  ought  to  feel 
proud  of. 

But  admiration  like  everything  else  must  have  an 
end,  and  after  we  had  finished  admiring  him,  we  went 
to  work  to  skin  and  quarter  him.  We  did  the  job,  but 
it  was  with  some  reluctance  and  a  little  sorrow.  Our 
consolation  lay  in  the  preservation  of  his  feet  and 
head,  and  these  we  saved  in  good  shape  for  mount- 
ing. 

Perhaps  the  reader  may  feel  interested  in  knowing 
that  this  caribou  head  now  helps  to  adorn  a  room  to- 
gether with  other  like  trophies — beautiful  deer  heads 
with  polished  antlers,  the  heads  of  granddaddy  cari- 
bou-bulls, and  gigantic  moose.  All  are  precious,  but 
the  collection  holds  none  that  we  prize  more  highly,  or 
with  which  we  would  part  more  reluctantly,  than  the 
head  of  the  little  spike-horn  bull  of  Eagle  Lake. 


A  Treacherous  Coward 

O  Monstrous  Coward  !    What,  to  come  behind  folks  ? 

— HENEY  VI. 

I  WOULD  ask  my  readers  if  any  of  them  has  ever 
scraped  an  acquaintance  with  lumbago  ?  He  who  has, 
probably  knows,  as  I  do,  that  of  all  the  ills  that  flew 
from  out  Pandora's  box  it  is  the  meanest  and  most 
treacherous.  I  say  "  treacherous  "  for  I  know  of  none 
in  the  whole  catalogue  that  is  so  much  in  the  habit  of 
sneaking  behind  a  man  and,  in  an  unwary  moment, 
stabbing  him  in  the  back. 

To  him,  however,  who  has  thus  far  been  lucky 
enough  to  escape  a  stab,  I  will  give  a  bit  of  pointed 
advice  ;  and  it  may  prove  useful  should  his  luck  ever 
desert  him.  The  point  of  the  advice  has  been  sharp- 
ened by  my  own  experience,  and  the  burden  of  it  is — 
trousers.  What  has  lumbago  to  do  with  trousers? 
Well,  it  is  quite  evident  that  he  knows  little  about  the 
ins  and  outs  of  lumbago,  or  he  wouldn't  ask  the  ques- 
tion. Now  listen.  If  in  the  course  of  human  events 
his  luck  should  chance  to  go  to  sleep  and  thus  give  the 
lumbago  an  opportunity  to  creep  up  behind  him  and 
get  a  whack  at  his  lumbar  regions,  he  will  soon  dis- 
cover where  my  advice  comes  in.  Here  it  is,  and  it 

isn't  lengthy — let  him  beware  of  getting  out  of  his 

211 


212  SPORT    INDEED 

trousers  if  he  has  any  desire  or  expectation  of  getting 
into  them  again.  Every  man  who  has  ever  put  on  a 
pair  of  unmentionables  knows  that  the  operation  is 
accompanied  by  a  certain  amount  of  stooping.  Of 
course,  stooping  is  an  easy  matter  to  most  people,  but 
not  to  a  man  with  lumbago.  It  would  be  easier,  and 
perhaps  more  pleasant  for  him,  to  dive  from  the  roof 
of  a  sky-scraper. 

When  I  first  tackled  this  complaint,  or — to  be  pre- 
cise— when  it  first  tackled  me,  I  was  on  one  of  my 
hunting  trips.  Now,  it  is  quite  bad  enough  when  the 
shabby  disease  pitches  upon  a  man  in  the  midst  of 
civilized  surroundings ;  but  when  it  attacks  a  hunter 
in  the  wilds  of  a  forest,  hundreds  of  miles  away  from 
civilization  and  his  home,  and  throws  him  on  his  bed 
of  spruce  boughs,  helplessly  and  almost  hopelessly 
squirming  with  pain  and  beyond  the  reach  of  a 
doctor's  aid,  or  the  aid  of  anything  else  to  soothe  it, 
his  predicament  is  rather  piteous. 

Now  I  am  not  the  man  to  squeal  before  I  am  hurt — 
nor  even  afterwards  unless  I  be  convinced  that  squeal- 
ing is  the  proper  salve  for  the  wound.  No,  my  milk 
of  courage  hasn't  enough  water  in  it  for  that.  Yet,  al- 
though squealing  may  be  an  unpromising  cure  for  one's 
harms,  I  admit  that  the  man  who  doesn't  do  a  little  of 
it  under  the  twist  of  a  lumbago  kink  has  more  of  that 
same  milk  in  his  composition  than  can  be  found  in  mine. 

And  now  for  my  experience.     The  reader  will  find 


A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD        213 

the  story  of  it  full  of  truth  and  circumstance,  and  I 
will  try  to  tell  it  without  growing  tedious,  or  straying 
from  what  the  Immortal  Bard  calls  "  The  plain  high- 
way of  talk." 

In  the  hunting  season  of  1893  I  started  on  a  trip 
accompanied  by  my  son  and  four  Indian  guides.  Our 
destination  was  the  head-waters  of  the  Peribonka — a 
river  that  flows  into  Lake  St.  John,  two  hundred  and 
thirty  miles  north  of  Quebec.  It  was  late  in  the  Fall 
when  we  crossed  the  lake,  and  there  was  every 
promise  that  we  would  find  ourselves  in  the  clutches 
of  Winter  before  we  got  back. 

"We  entered  the  mouth  of  the  river  and  paddled 
along  for  a  couple  of  days,  passing  through  gorge  after 
gorge  in  the  great  Laurentian  Stratum  of  rocks — a 
stratum  which  geologists  tell  us  is  older  by  millions  of 
years  than  the  sandstone  or  gneiss  formation  that 
characterizes  the  rocks  of  some  of  our  own  States.  A 
virgin  forest  lines  the  shores.  It  is  made  up  of  spruce 
and  fir-trees,  tangled  together  like  a  tropical  jungle. 
No  road,  no  path,  no  clearing  is  to  be  seen — nothing 
but  the  great  river  for  a  highway.  Up  to  that  time 
the  forest  had  escaped  the  lumberman's  axe,  save 
where  it  had  been  called  in  to  cut  down  a  little  of  the 
wood  and  thus  clear  a  bit  of  ground  for  the  camping 
parties.  These  camps  are  usually  found  near  the 
various  falls  or  deep  pools  that  abound  in  this  river 
and  add  to  its  weird  beautv. 


214  SPORT   INDEED 

The  night  of  the  second  day  was  one  which  is  now 
rather  firmly  fixed  in  my  memory.  The  wind  came 
from  the  north  in  true  hurricane  style  and  brought 
with  it  weather  that  might  accommodate  a  variety  of 
tastes.  Snow,  sleet,  and  rain  whirled  fiercely  in  our 
faces,  while  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  and  their 
attendant  peals  of  thunder  gave  a  startling  emphasis 
to  the  storm.  Trees  fell  by  the  thousand,  and  the 
next  morning  our  tent,  which  we  had  pitched  in  an 
open  camping  spot,  was  encircled  by  their  trunks  and 
broken  branches.  During  the  night  the  wild  water- 
fowl were  scurrying  southward  with  express-train 
speed — speed  which  was  somewhat  aided  by  the 
wings  of  the  hurricane.  We  heard  the  honk  of  the 
geese,  though  at  times  it  was  drowned  by  the  cries  of 
the  small  wading  birds — the  yellow  legs,  gray  snipe 
and  plover.  The  wild  ducks,  too,  kept  up  an  incessant 
whistle  mingled  with  the  whir  of  their  swift-rushing 
wings. 

The  storm  was  the  opening  blast  of  Winter — a  note 
of  warning,  as  it  were,  from  Old  Boreas,  telling  us  we 
must  get  out  of  that  country  or  be  frozen  in.  And  it 
looked  that  way,  for  no  sooner  had  the  storm  passed 
than  we  found  the  cold  close  at  its  heels,  and  it  did 
not  take  it  long  to  freeze  the  river  tight  along  the 
shores.  Our  Indian  guides  looked  glum,  consoling  us 
with  the  remark :  "  Heap  cold  comin' ;  big  winter 
soon ! "  So  we  finally  concluded  to  turn  our  backs  to 


A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD        215 

the  north,  and,  like  the  rest  of  animated  nature,  join 
in  a  procession  for  more  congenial  quarters. 

Our  procession,  however,  did  not  get  far  before  it 
was  forced  to  come  to  a  halt.  The  trouble  was  a 
portage  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  long  and  so  covered 
with  numerous  windfalls  as  to  be  almost  impassable ; 
and  trees  were  piled  one  upon  another,  the  pile  reach- 
ing five  or  six  feet  above  the  ground. 

We  found  it  was  necessary  to  cut  an  avenue  through 
the  bristling  branches,  and  this  the  Indians  did.  Then 
we  hauled  our  canoes  through,  lugging  our  provisions 
and  other  stuff  upon  our  backs.  Perhaps  I  did  more 
than  my  share  of  this  work,  for  at  the  end  of  it  I 
found  myself  overheated ;  and  to  this  I  attribute  all 
the  trouble  that  was  soon  to  follow. 

The  storm  abated  during  the  day,  the  wind  coming 
only  in  squalls  with  occasional  dashes  of  rain,  hail  and 
snow.  That  night  we  pitched  our  tents  on  the  north- 
ern bank  of  Lake  St.  John,  and  had  our  supper,  the 
storm  breaking  loose  again  before  we  had  finished. 
After  supper  I  began  to  prepare  for  my  bed  of  boughs. 
My  preparations,  however,  did  not  get  far  before  they 
were  interrupted  and  in  a  manner  novel  to  me  then, 
although  the  novelty  is  worn  a  little  threadbare  now. 
I  was  in  the  act  of  stooping  over  to  unlace  my  boots 
when  a  sharp  pain  in  my  back  suggested  that  some 
enemy  was  behind  me  and  armed  with  a  pitchfork.  I 
felt  the  jab  of  its  prongs  probing  my  backbone,  and  if 


216  SPORT   INDEED 

I  attempted  to  straighten  myself  into  an  erect  position 
a  fresh  jab  would  double  me  up.  "  What  the  deuce 
can  be  the  matter  with  my  back  ? "  This  question 
naturally  crossed  my  mind,  and  I  never  before  queried 
it  with  a  stronger  desire  for  an  answer.  For  forty- 
seven  odd  years  had  I  boasted  of  my  back  and  its 
ability  to  shoulder  difficulties ;  why  should  it  now 
begin  to  cut  capers  and  "  go  back  on  me  "  ?  Had  it 
come  across  some  difficulty  it  couldn't  shoulder  ? 
Was  it  lumbago  ?  Well  I  had  often  heard  of  the  dis- 
ease but  had  no  more  idea  that  it  would  saddle  itself 
upon  my  back  than  I  now  have  of  saddling  my  country 
with  presidential  aspirations. 

After  many  attempts,  I  managed  to  creep  to  my  bed 
of  boughs.  The  pain  was  excruciating  and  getting 
worse  so  fast  that  at  ten  o'clock  it  was  unendurable  ; 
then  I  called  two  of  the  guides  and  offered  them  a 
liberal  sum  to  paddle  across  the  lake  to  Roberval — 
thirty-eight  miles  away — and  get  a  doctor.  One,  only, 
of  the  four  Indians,  could  speak  English,  and  the  little 
that  he  spoke  was  of  the  "  pigeon  "  variety. 

They  put  their  heads  together  and  after  a  great  deal 
of  powwowing  went  out,  looked  up  at  the  sky  and 
then  at  the  lake ;  then  they  came  back  to  me,  the 
pigeon  man  saying  "  Heap  bad  storm.  You  give  two 
pounds  tobac  extry  and  we  go."  If  the  demand  had 
been  a  hundred  pounds,  I  was  in  full  humor  to  grant  it. 

After  telling  the  "  pigeon  "  what  he  was  to  say  to  the 


A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD        217 

doctor,  two  of  the  Indians  started  to  paddle  their  way 
across  Lake  St.  John,  and  on  as  dark  and  stormy  a 
night  as  ever  shrouded  its  bosom.  As  soon  as  they  left 
I  set  the  other  two  Indians  to  work  heating  spruce 
boughs  on  a  little  sheet-iron  stove,  and  placing  them, 
hot  as  possible,  under  my  back.  But  the  treatment 
had  little  or  no  effect.  The  contraction  of  my  lumbar 
muscles  continued  to  increase  and  in  a  little  while  I 
was  entirely  unable  to  move. 

They  say  "  Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention," 
and  in  the  stress  of  mine  I  directed  the  Indians  to  tie 
a  long  towel  to  the  centre-pole  of  the  tent ;  then,  when 
the  lumbago  twinges  would  become  unbearable  in  one 
position  of  my  body,  I  would  seize  the  end  of  the  towel 
and  pull  myself  around  into  another. 

And  so  the  night  went  by,  the  minutes  dragging 
themselves  slowly  into  hours.  To  pass  the  time  and 
make  its  moments  a  little  less  painful,  I  had  tried  va- 
rious devices  with  the  hope  of  diverting  my  mind  from 
the  lumbago.  At  one  time  I  set  my  brain  to  guessing 
at  the  number  of  flocks  and  the  variety  of  water-fowls 
that  were  flying  on  their  way  southward.  But  they 
came  so  close  together  and  passed  so  swiftly,  that  all 
my  guessing  didn't  amount  to  much. 

The  end  of  this — to  me — eventful  night,  came  at 
last.  The  morning  dawned  fair  and  bright  and  saw 
me  still  lying  upon  my  back  and  suffering  with  an 
agony  that  seemed  to  be  piling  itself  up  with  each 


218  SPORT    INDEED 

passing  minute.  How  long  was  this  sort  of  thing  to 
last  ?  I  told  one  of  the  Indians  to  post  himself  on 
some  high  point  of  land  where  he  might  watch  for 
the  little  steamer  with  its  precious  load  of  doctor 
and  signal  to  me  when  it  hove  in  sight.  At  twelve 
o'clock  the  signal  came. 

Then  followed  an  hour  of  anxious  solicitude. 
Though  the  weather  was  clear,  the  wind  was  very 
high,  and  the  little  steamer  could  be  seen  tossing  in 
the  waves  like  a  cork.  At  times  she  would  drop 
out  of  sight,  causing  the  watcher  to  think  she  had 
gone  to  the  bottom ;  then  she  would  bob  up  again 
and  struggle  on  her  way  against,  what  seemed  to 
be,  resistless  odds.  However,  at  one  o'clock  she 
reached  her  landing,  and  the  eagerly-waited-for  doc- 
tor stepped  ashore.  He  was  a  kindly  and  cheerful 
French  Canadian,  and  though  his  French  was  abun- 
dant enough  his  stock  of  English  was  slim.  He  told 
me  that  the  little  steamer  had  gone  through  a  peril- 
ous voyage,  indeed.  Two  of  her  three  propeller  blades 
had  been  broken  off  and  she  was  forced  to  churn 
her  way  across  with  the  remaining  one.  He  also  told 
me  that  the  guides,  whom  I  had  sent  for  him,  did 
not  reach  Roberval  till  eight  o'clock  that  morn- 
ing. 

The  doctor  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  work  on  my 
lumbago.  He  gave  me  a  hypodermic  injection  of 
morphine,  following  it  up  with  another  of  the  same 


A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD        221 

sort  at  night.  Still  I  could  not  bear  to  be  moved 
until  the  next  morning.  The  steamer  was  now  wait- 
ing to  take  us  both  to  Roberval.  She  lay  about  a 
mile  from  us  out  in  the  channel  and  we  were  taken 
out  to  her  in  a  rowboat. 

At  noon  we  reached  our  destination  where  a  car- 
riage was  in  waiting  to  take  me  to  a  boarding-house 
which  was  kept  by  a  delightful  old  French  couple  who 
had  formerly  been  employed  in  a  nobleman's  family 
in  France.  They  doctored  and  nursed  me  with  the 
tenderest  care,  and  at  the  end  of  six  days  I  was  able  to 
travel  homeward. 

But  don't  imagine,  reader,  that  my  back  was  now 
in  prime  order.  No  ;  there  was  still  a  stiffness  and  a 
"  hump  "  there  that  took  me  weeks  to  get  rid  of.  I 
did  at  last  recover  my  normal  health,  but  the  beastly 
disease  seemed  determined  not  to  forget  me  entirety. 
Kecently  it  found  me  on  another  hunting  trip,  and  in 
this  way.  It  was  raining  very  hard  and  I  put  on  rub- 
ber hip  boots  and  a  new  mackintosh  and  cape.  The 
two  latter  are  a  delusion  and  a  snare.  They  hold 
neither  comfort  nor  much  shelter  and  the  hunter  is 
wise  that  avoids  them.  I  made  a  journey  to  a  bog 
eight  miles  distant,  taking  the  bed  of  a  stream  where 
the  walking  was  easier  than  in  the  road.  The  water 
was  cold,  however — cold  enough  to  keep  my  feet  at  an 
icy  temperature — while  the  mackintosh  kept  my  body 
in  a  perspiration.  On  my  way  up  the  stream  I  shot  a 


222  SPORT   INDEED 

deer,  and  the  work  of  dressing  it  and  hanging  it  up  on 
a  tree  heated  me  still  more. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  bog  I  ate  my  lunch  and  sat 
there  for  an  hour  or  more  looking  for  caribou.  At 
two  o'clock  I  left  for  the  camp,  reaching  it  at  five. 
The  mackintosh  had  been  getting  heavier  with  each 
mile,  until  it  weighed,  or  seemed  to  weigh,  full  half-a- 
hundred  pounds.  It  is  needless  to  say  that,  handi- 
capped in  this  manner,  the  walk  of  sixteen  miles  had 
made  me  very  tired.  The  next  morning  the  lumbago 
made  its  appearance  while  I  was  stooping  to  lace  my 
boots.  Two  distinct  kinks  in  my  back  told  the  story 
of  its  arrival.  And  now  comes  in  the  trouser  expe- 
rience I  have  referred  to,  and  its  relation  may  prove 
interesting,  if  not  instructive,  to  the  reader.  I  had 
been  unwise  enough  to  take  them  off  the  night  before, 
and  to  get  back  into  them  again  was  a  job  I  con- 
templated with  alarm.  Suddenly  a  brilliant  thought 
struck  me.  I  took  two  pieces  of  twine  about  three 
feet  long,  and  tied  a  piece  to  each  front  suspender  but- 
ton. Then,  backing  myself  up  against  a  tree,  I  took 
one  of  the  strings  in  each  hand  and  dropped  the 
trousers  in  front  of  me,  taking  particular  care  not  to 
lose  my  hold  on  the  strings.  Then  stepping  a  foot 
into  each  leg  I  drew  the  garment  slowly  and  cautiously 
up  into  its  proper  place.  It  took  me  some  time  to  ac- 
complish the  feat,  but  there  was  no  especial  hurry ; 
besides,  under  the  circumstances,  I  had  a  good  deal 


A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD       223 

more  faith  in  deliberation.  I  have  as  yet  applied  for 
no  patent  on  my  device,  therefore  those  of  my  readers 
who  chance  to  get  into  a  like  fix,  are  at  liberty  to  use  it. 

Here  is  another  hint  that  may  be  of  service.  Every 
man  who  has  a  touch  of  lumbago  has  with  it  an  im- 
pulsive yearning  to  back  up  against,  or  sit  down  upon, 
anything  that  is  hot — with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of 
a  red-hot  stove.  "While  I  was  in  Greenville,  Me.,  and 
somewhat  humped  up  with  the  disease,  I  came  across 
a  huge  pile  of  sawdust  that  had  lain  all  the  morning 
under  the  rays  of  the  warm  September  sun.  Here 
was  an  opportunity  my  back  was  aching  for.  At 
once  I  squatted  upon  the  top  of  the  pile,  and  its 
warmth  was  so  grateful  that  I  sat  there  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  sandwiched,  as  it  were,  between  the  heat  of 
the  sun  above  and  the  heat  of  the  sawdust  below. 
Do  I  guarantee  this  an  absolute  cure  ?  By  no  means. 
The  ailment  is  too  aggressive  a  fighter  to  be  scared 
away  by  a  pile  of  hot  sawdust.  I  merely  recommend 
it  as  a  kink-soother. 

Perhaps  the  reader  may  think  it  strange  that  after 
all  my  rough  experience  I  still  persist  in  roaming  the 
forests  in  search  of  big  game.  Well,  perhaps  it  is 
strange.  One  of  my  friends,  who  is  something  of  a 
wag,  declares  that  on  these  trips  I  am  not  after  game 
at  all,  but  in  search  of  lumbago.  "  For  everybody 
knows,"  he  argues,  "  that  lumbago  is  a  disease  of  the 
lumbar  regions,  and  therefore  a  forest  is  the  most 


224  SPORT    INDEED 

likely  place  to  find  it."  "Waggery  on  such  a  serious 
subject  may  seem  to  the  reader  like  fiddling  at  a 
funeral.  If  his  mind,  however,  should  be  at  all  per- 
turbed with  fears  for  the  result  of  my  future  en- 
counters with  lumbago,  I  will  set  it  at  rest  at  once. 
That  disease  has  no  terrors  for  me  now.  I  know  so 
well  how  to  master  it  that  it  becomes  in  my  hands  as 
docile  as  a  well-trained  horse.  It  no  longer  runs  away 
with  me.  You  ask  me  how  I  manage  it  ?  I  will  tell 
you.  Should  the  disease  catch  me  in  the  forest,  I  take 
the  cure  at  once  upon  myself.  I  have  abandoned  my 
old  method  of  sending  forty  or  fifty  miles  for  a 
doctor,  for  the  reason  that  while  I  waited  for  the 
"  carer  of  bodies  "  to  make  his  appearance  the  lumbago 
was  busy  fixing  its  claws  more  firmly  in  my  back. 
My  new  method  is  this :  exercise,  and  plenty  of  it, 
and  the  more  violent  the  exercise,  the  more  effective 
it  will  be.  I  generally  open  the  ball  by  trying  how 
far  or  how  high  I  can  jump.  There  is  not  much  fun 
in  this,  for  at  each  jump  your  back  feels  as  if  it  had 
been  split  open.  After  the  jumping  I  take  a  canoe 
and  paddle  it  for  an  hour  or  two.  Then  I  pick  out  a 
road,  and  this,  to  be  of  service,  should  run  to  the  top 
of  some  high  ridge.  The  worse  the  road  is,  the  better 
it  is — for  the  purpose.  It  should  be  full  of  windfalls, 
soft  wet  places,  and  plenty  of  rocks — a  road,  in  fact, 
where  even  a  well  man  would  soon  grow  weary  of 
slipping  and  sliding  and  crawling  over  and  under  the 


A  TREACHEROUS  COWARD        22$ 

loss.     Now,  if  such  exercise  would  tire  a  man  in  a 

O  ' 

wholesome  condition,  how  does  it  act  upon  one  who 
has  to  carry  with  him  an  unwholesome  load  of  lum- 
bago ?  Well,  I  presume  there  are  many  who  wouldn't 
care  to  try  it  a  second  time.  However,  it  is  a  part  of 
my  method  and  therefore  I  must  insist  upon  it. 
After  my  walk  I  return  for  my  dinner,  with  my 
anatomy  still  doubled-up,  but  with  the  conviction 
that  my  first  brush  with  the  enemy  has  sapped 
his  entrenchments,  and  that  another  one  will  knock 
his  fortifications  into  smithereens.  After  dinner  I 
take  a  second  walk,  choosing,  this  time,  a  wet  bog  and 
trudging  through  it,  ankle-deep  at  every  step,  back 
and  forth  until  the  perspiration  starts  as  freely  as  if  I 
were  in  a  Turkish  bath.  Then  I  return  to  camp,  and 
at  night  apply  a  hot-water  bag  to  my  back.  Next 
morning  behold  me  spring  from  my  couch  of  spruce 
boughs !  Undoubled  and  erect,  "  Richard's  himself 
again  !  "  After  breakfast  I  go  for  another  dose  of  my 
walking-physic.  True,  it  isn't  as  gentle  and  palatable 
as  it  might  be,  but  the  dose  goes  down  much  easier 
than  it  did  yesterday.  After  the  walk  I  return  to 
camp  and — well,  the  battle  is  over,  the  victory  won, 
and  my  Machiavellian  enemy  has  surrendered  uncon- 
ditionally. I  retire  to  my  spruce  boughs  and  the  next 
morning  finds  me  without  a  pain  or  an  ache  and  with 
a  soul  eager  and  hungry  for  the  sport  that  only  a 
moose  or  caribou  can  give  me. 


226  SPORT    INDEED 

And  now,  dear  reader,  I  have  finished  my  essay  on 
lumbago.  Should  you  chance  to  be  bothered  with  this 
tormentor  of  humanity,  don't  dally  with  it  but  adopt 
my  treatment  at  once.  It  is  true  that  the  paddling  of 
canoes  and  climbing  over  rough  roads  and  tramping 
through  wet  bogs  are  not  among  the  recreations  of 
ordinary  city  life  ;  but  the  jumping  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme is  open  to  you.  If  you  do  enough  of  this  you 
•will  probably  think  you  can  dispense  with  the  other  en- 
joyments, and  possibly  you  can.  Kesolution  and  pluck 
are  the  only  ammunition  you  will  need  to  fight  your 
battle  to  a  successful  end.  I  admit  that  my  tactics 
are  rather  heroic,  and  that  there  is  one  difficulty  always 
standing  in  their  way — the  difficulty  of  getting 
together  enough  of  the  fore-mentioned  ammunition. 


The  Great  Northwest 

Well  hast  thou  lessou'd  us. 

— TITUS  ANDBONICUS. 

THE  first  thing  that  struck  my  attention  on  ray 
northwestern  trip  was  Canada's  nagging  policy  in 
regard  ,to  American  travel. 

I  had  two  guns  and  a  case  of  shells  on  which  duty 
was  claimed.  These,  I  explained,  had  been  in  use  over 
six  years  and  that  I  was  going  for  only  a  few  days 
shooting  in  Canada  and  then  would  return  with  them 
across  the  borders.  But  my  explanation  had  no 
weight.  The  shells  were  counted  and  duty  at  the  rate 
of  thirty-five  per  cent,  was  exacted  upon  them,  with 
conditions  that  if  I  took  the  guns  back  out  of  Canada 
within  two  months  they  would  refund  the  duty,  but 
not  if  they  should  be  kept  a  day  over  that  limit.  Such 
is  international  courtesy  between  two  countries  with  a 
border  line  of  four  thousand  miles. 

I  passed  through  the  famous  Soo  Canal  where  our 
Government  was  (at  that  time,  1892)  enforcing  a  re- 
taliation policy  against  Canada.  It  was  therefore 
interesting  to  hear  the  conversations  of  the  Canadians 
and  Americans  on  the  vessel  and  along  the  canal.  We 
were  detained  there  four  hours  in  getting  an  entrance 
to  the  lock.  The  Canadians  pointed  out  the  fact  that 

227 


228  SPORT    INDEED 

their  own  canal,  which  was  then  in  course  of  construc- 
tion, would  soon  be  finished,  and  would  give  them  the 
opportunity  to  retaliate  by  putting  up  the  tolls  to 
American  vessels  in  the  "Welland  and  other  Canadian 
Avaterwa3rs.  They  said  it  was  a  small,  petty  thing  for 
a  great  country  like  the  United  States  to  do,  and 
that  Canada  would  more  than  get  even  in  the  long 
run. 

The  Americans,  on  the  other  hand,  said  it  served 
the  Canadians  right,  for  they  were  always  nagging  and 
bullying  us,  behind  England,  on  the  fisheries,  the 
Behring  Sea  and  other  questions ;  and  it  was  time  to 
teach  them  a  lesson.  The  commerce  passing  through 
this  canal  in  Canadian  bottoms  is  very  small,  some- 
times being  only  a  little  over  four  per  cent,  of  the 
whole.  Out  of  an  almost  continuous  procession  of 
steamers,  tugs  and  sailing  vessels  which  AVC  passed  in 
the  "  Soo  "  Eiver  only  one  was  Canadian,  and  she  was 
a  small  fishing  smack.  So,  pecuniarily,  the  retaliation 
policy  didn't  amount  to  much ;  it  was  the  sting  and 
smart  of  it  that  counted.  American  craft  went 
through  free  and  Canadian  craft  paid  twenty  cents 
per  ton  toll. 

It  is  said  that  more  tonnage  passes  through  the  Soo 
Canal  than  through  the  famous  Suez  Canal.  The  Soo 
Canal  is  open  only  about  seven  months  in  the  year  and 
is  totally  inadequate  for  the  immense  traffic  passing 
through  it;  therefore  our  Government  built  a  new 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         229 

canal,  with  a  lock  eight-hundred  feet  long,  eighty  feet 
wide  and  twenty-one  feet  deep.  The  former  lock  was 
five  hundred  and  fifteen  feet  long,  with  a  sixty  foot  en- 
trance, eighty  feet  inside,  and  about  fourteen  feet  six 
inches  deep.  The  Canadian  Government  has  made 
theirs  a  thousand  feet  long  and  sixty  feet  wide  through- 
out. 

There  is  no  object  lesson  equal  to  this  American 
Canal  in  demonstrating  the  enormous  resources  of  the 
great  Northwest.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  in 
both  directions  I  saw  an  unending  procession  of  vessels 
bound  both  up  the  lakes  and  down  ;  those  passing 
down  being  loaded  to  the  deep  Avater  line  with  iron 
ore,  grain,  lumber,  etc. ;  those  passing  up,  with  coal 
and  general  merchandise.  And  so  it  is  every  day 
while  navigation  is  open. 

What  a  lot  of  people  with  diversified  pursuits  our 
Canadian  Pacific  steamer  was  carrying  !  Sitting  op- 
posite to  me  at  table  was  a  typical  Englishman, 
formerly  a  coffee  planter  in  Ceylon  but  now  a  large 
land  proprietor  in  Manitoba.  Another  Englishman 
had  been  out  to  the  East  Indies  elephant  shooting  and 
was  on  his  way  to  the  Kocky  Mountains  to  try  his 
hand  on  the  grizzly  bear.  He  was  a  strenuous  advo^ 
cate  of  the  Martini-Henry  rifle  for  large  game  and 
wouldn't  think  of  shooting  a  Winchester  (probably 
because  it  is  American).  A  number  of  passengers 
were  going  to  shoot  prairie-chickens,  ducks,  etc.,  others 


230  SPORT   INDEED 

were  on  their  way  to  buy  land  near  "Winnipeg.  One 
wanted  to  sell  land  up  there,  and  wanted  badly  to  sell 
it.  Merchants  were  returning  from  England,  Montreal 
and  Toronto,  having  bought  their  fall  and  winter 
stock  ;  others  were  journeying  across  the  continent 
en  route  to  Japan  and  China. 

Coming  up  the  Soo  (or  Sault  Ste.  Marie)  River,  out 
of  Georgian  Bay,  I  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
magnitude  of  the  great  Northwest's  resources.  An 
almost  continuous  string  of  grain  and  ore-laden 
schooners,  steamers,  barges  and  whale-backs  kept  pass- 
ing us  for  miles,  and  on  arriving  at  the  mouth  of  the 
canal,  which  is  but  a  mile  long,  we  were  detained  four 
hours  waiting  our  turn  to  get  through  its  one  lock. 
The  vessel  in  front  of  us  was  the  largest  steamer  on 
the  Lakes — the  Mariposa — over  4,000  tons  burthen,  and 
while  the  lock  could  comfortably  accommodate  four 
large  schooners  at  one  lockage  this  steamer  so  filled 
it  that  no  other  vessel  could  enter.  She  belonged  to 
Ashtabula,  O.,  and  was  going  up  with  a  light  cargo  of 
coal,  and  would  reload  with  iron  ore  for  her  return 
trip.  The  Canadians  seemed  to  think  that  our  Gov- 
ernment made  a  mistake  in  enforcing  the  retaliation 
policy  on  this  canal,  but  after  their  astonishment  and 
surprise  at  the  action  had  worn  away  they  became  indif- 
ferent. The  Canadian  Pacific  Kail  way  was  the  prin- 
cipal and  about  the  only  sufferer  ;  and  it  wasn't  much 
of  a  sufferer,  either,  as  the  total  Canadian  tonnage 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST        231 

passing  through  the  canal,  as  I  have  said,  is  but  a  small 
fraction  of  the  whole. 

On  reaching  Fort  William  (an  old  Hudson  Bay 
Company's  fort)  the  first  thing  to  attract  my  notice 
was  a  big  wagon-load  of  fine  French  clarets,  brandies 
and  Canadian  whiskies,  marked  "  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany." I  know  not  how  strong  the  proof  of  the 
liquors  may  have  been,  but  I  do  know  that  the  load 
itself  was  to  me  proof  strong  as  Holy  Writ,  that  the 
people  up  this  way  have  expensive  tastes  and  the 
wherewithal  to  gratify  them.  From  an  unusually  in- 
telligent and  well  informed  commercial  traveler  of 
London,  Canada,  I  learned  that  the  head  offices  of  the 
Hudson  Bay  Company  for  this  district  are  at  Winni- 
peg, and  that  on  his  last  trip  to  that  town  there  were 
no  fewer  than  thirty-two  drummers  at  the  principal 
hotel ;  that  these  represented  the  dry-goods  and  ready- 
made  clothing  interests  alone,  and  that  the  buyers  for 
these  departments  of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  looked 
at  every  man's  samples  before  they  bought  a  dollar's 
worth.  Now,  as  this  company  also  sells  groceries, 
wines,  crockery,  hardware,  drugs,  stoves  and  tinware, 
guns,  ammunition,  etc.,  the  reader  will  easily  see  what 
an  enormous  trade  they  still  monopolize  up  here. 

At  Fort  William  the  C.  P.  E.  E.  has  three  big  grain 
elevators,  and  though  the  railroad  ships  the  grain  by 
lake  and  through  the  canal  as  fast  as  boats  can  be 
loaded,  yet  the  elevators  are  often  full  to  the  roof. 


232  SPORT   INDEED 

Their  capacity  is  1,250,000  bushels.  The  train  we  met 
at  Fort  William  was  the  transcontinental  express.  It 
had  eleven  cars,  two  of  which  were  filled  with  Chinese 
passengers  ticketed  through  from  New  York  to  China. 
Two  cars  of  colonists  were  going  out  to  settle  at  dif- 
ferent points  on  the  line.  The  cars  were  clean  and 
comfortable-looking  and  were  used  at  night  as  sleepers, 
having  the  same  arrangement  of  berths  as  the  Pull- 
mans, without,  of  course,  the  luxurious  appointments 
which  characterize  the  latter.  There  is  but  one 
through  train  a  day  and  this  averages  about  twenty- 
two  miles  an  hour. 

The  road  is  a  single  track,  well  ballasted,  and  has 
splendid  rolling  stock  with  good  motive  power.  The 
management  of  the  line  con  template  bestowing  the  same 
attentions  on  the  through  first-class  passengers  as  the 
trans-Atlantic  steamship  companies  do,  such  as  pass- 
ing fresh  fruit,  beef  tea,  lemonade,  etc.,  round  to  the 
passengers  during  the  day — an  innovation  that  other 
lines  would  do  well  to  follow.  The  Michigan  Central 
had  already  been  in  the  habit  of  presenting  bouquets 
of  flowers  to  its  patrons  on  reaching  a  certain  station. 
Such  little  attentions  do  not  cost  much  and  they 
make  a  good  advertisement. 

The  city  of  Winnipeg,  with  a  population  of  25,000, 
was  a  veritable  surprise  to  me.  It  has  broad  streets, 
half  as  wide  again  as  any  in  our  eastern  cities,  four 
lines  of  street  car  tracks,  electric  lights,  electric  rail- 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         233 

ways,  opera  house,  fine  stores  and  a  hotel  that  would 
put  to  shame  many  metropolitan  hostelries.  It  has  a 
frontage  on  the  main  street  of  216  feet,  is  seven  stories 
high,  with  a  rotunda  forty  by  ninety  feet  and  a  dining- 
hall  fifty  feet  wide,  ninety  feet  long  and  twenty-six 
feet  high,  grandly  lighted  by  three  copper  electroliers, 
aided  by  a  blaze  of  wall  fixtures.  Then  there  are 
massive  stone  fireplaces  and  also  a  balcony  at  one  end, 
on  which  an  orchestra  enlivens  the  dinner  hour. 

The  hotel  has  Turkish  and  ordinary  baths,  private 
supper  and  dining-rooms,  and  is  heated  by  steam  and 
lighted  throughout  by  an  elaborate  electric  plant. 
The  charges  are  from  three  to  seven  dollars  per  day, 
and  at  these  prices  the  house  is  well  supported.  This 
hotel,  this  city,  and  this  Canadian  Pacific  Railroad 
with  its  progressive  management  are  indexes  of  the 
enterprise  of  the  Canadian  Northwest.  Here  the 
"  star  of  empire  "  may  well  hold  its  sway  ;  here  future 
provinces  and  cities  will  rise  from  the  level  table-land 
of  the  prairies,  by  the  limpid  waters  of  the  Assiniboine 
and  Red  Rivers,  to  grow  rich,  prosperous  and  happy 
in  the  lavish  and  generous  returns  from  the  tillage  of 
a  fruitful  soil.  Future  colonies  will  leave  their  mother 
country,  where  the  "  dry  husks  of  poverty  "  have  been 
their  support,  and  find  here  a  glorious  paradise  of 
plenty.  Here  will  grow  up  a  strong-lunged,  magnetic 
generation  which  must  wield  a  beneficent  influence 
upon  the  rest  of  Canada — and  why  not  upon  those 


234  SPORT   INDEED 

sections  of  our  own  country  that  must  surely  come  in 
contact  with  the  almost  boundless  agricultural  wealth 
and  resources  of  the  British  province  ? 

As  we  were  about  leaving  "Winnipeg,  a  banker  of 
that  lively  town,  in  speaking  of  the  great  expanse  of 
rich  wheat  lands  around  the  city,  said :  "  "While  the 
land  in  the  neighborhood  of  "Winnipeg  raises  fine 
wheat,  and  lots  of  it,  one  thousand  miles  further  north 
they  raise  just  as  much  wheat  to  the  acre  and  just  as 
good."  One  thousand  miles  further  north !  Think 
of  it !  I  do  not  know  and  could  not  find  out  in  what 
latitude  "Winnipeg  is  situated.  I  asked  the  clerk  at 
the  Manitoba  House,  among  others.  "  Well,"  he  said, 
"I  really  don't  know,  but  I  do  know  it's  an  awful 
cold  latitude."  The  railway  guide  says  it  is  one 
thousand  four  hundred  and  twenty-four  miles  from 
Montreal,  and  yet  good  lands  are  being  cultivated  a 
thousand  miles  still  further  north.  This  fact  helps  to 
explain  the  enormous  quantities  of  freight  the  Cana- 
dian Pacific  Railroad  is  sending  down,  both  by  rail 
and  water,  to  the  lakes  and  through  the  St.  Lawrence 
River. 

At  Regina,  the  capital  of  the  province  of  Assiniboia, 
we  were  much  interested  in  the  House  of  Parliament, 
the  Governor's  mansion  and  the  barracks  and  drill 
ground  of  the  famous  mounted  police  force.  All  are 
equipped  with  electric  lights  and  other  modern  con- 
veniences. 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         235 

The  mounted  police  is  said  to  be  the  best  force  of 
its  kind  in  the  world,  and  numbers  over  one  thousand 
men.  They  patrol  the  whole  Northwest,  including  the 
provinces  of  Assiniboia,  Saskatchewan,  Athabasca  and 
Alberta,  keeping  in  order  the  Indian  population  as  well 
as  the  rest  of  the  inhabitants  who  might  be  inclined  to 
stray  from  the  right  path. 

Canada's  treatment  of  the  Indian  problem  has  long 
been  acknowledged  as  wiser,  more  humane  and  more 
successful  than  ours  and,  as  a  result,  we  see  the 
prairies  dotted  everywhere  with  Indian  tents,  the 
men  being  occupied  with  the  business  of  farming  or 
the  grazing  of  cattle.  They  follow  these  pursuits 
contentedly  and  with  good  financial  results.  They 
are  well  dressed,  seemingly  prosperous  and  have  gen- 
erally overcome  their  instinctive  desire  for  the  excite- 
ment of  the  hunters  life. 

What  a  sad  sight  is  the  great  square  piles  of  buffalo 
bones  stacked  up  at  different  stations  and  awaiting 
shipment  to  the  East  where  they  usefully  wind  up 
their  existence  in  the  sugar  refineries  and  manu- 
factories of  phosphates.  The  men  who  gather  up  the 
bones  on  the  prairies  and  haul  them  to  the  station  get 
six  dollars  per  ton.  As  an  indication  of  the  extent  of 
the  business,  the  quantity  sent  forward  from  Moose- 
jaw  Station  alone  is  counted  by  the  hundred  carloads. 

When  we  think  that  the  few  pounds  of  bleached 
bones,  forming  one  skeleton  and  bringing  perhaps  ten 


236  SPORT    INDEED 

cents  at  the  cars,  were  once  the  framework  of  the 
noblest  animal  that  ever  roamed  over  the  continent, 
and  that,  had  he  been  even  slightly  protected  by  law,  by 
common  sense  or  common  humanity,  he  would  have 
furnished  us  with  the  luxurious  robe  and  succulent 
meat  for  years  to  come,  the  sight  becomes  indeed  a 
sorrowful  one.  Soon  these  ghastly  piles  will  be  car- 
ried away  and  nothing  be  left  to  mark  the  haunts  and 
history  of  the  buffalo,  except  tradition  and  the  scarred 
sides  of  the  slopes  and  valleys  where  he  dug  out  his 
"  wallow." 

We  saw  coyotes  very  often  after  passing  Moosejaw  ; 
also  foxes  and  badgers ;  and  as  for  gophers,  their  name 
is  legion.  Wild  geese,  ducks  and  snipe  we  also  saw 
on  many  fresh  water  ponds  and  lakes.  The  loth  of 
September  opens  the  season  for  the  prairie-chicken — 
and  thousands  of  guns  crack  away  during  that  day  and 
to  the  end  of  the  season. 

One  afternoon  we  were  out  snipe  shooting  for  a  few 
hours,  and  on  our  tramp  passed  quite  a  number  of  In- 
dian tents  and  villages  ;  but  neither  the  Indians  nor 
their  motley  variety  of  dogs  paid  any  attention  to  us, 
excepting  one  old  buck  with  a  red  blanket  thrown 
over  his  shoulders.  This  fellow  followed  us  silently 
around,  watching  us  intently,  and,  although  saying 
nothing,  seemed  to  be  piling  up  a  lot  of  thinking. 

A  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  arrived  here  in 
their  private  car  on  a  shooting  trip  to  the  coast. 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         237 

They  ate  and  slept  in  the  car  and  were  quite  success- 
ful in  shooting  and  fishing.  They  left  here  on  a  side 
hunt  for  antelope  and  bears. 

I  wrote  these  notes  seated  on  the  broad  prairie  be- 
side a  palace  car  (wherein  we  were  luxuriously  fed  and 
housed),  waiting  until  the  beds  were  made  up  and 
breakfast  was  prepared.  It  is  something  certainly 
novel,  as  well  as  very  pleasant,  to  sit  down  in  this  lati- 
tude to  a  dinner  of  wild  roast  goose,  teal  duck,  prairie- 
chicken,  fresh  peaches,  sweet  potatoes,  ice  cream,  etc., 
with  plenty  of  drinkables  besides,  and  all  served  by 
competent  waiters.  For  this  luxury  we  were  indebted 
to  a  Worcester  (Mass.)  Excursion  Company,  who  were 
on  their  twenty-second  annual  shooting  tour  and  who 
had  invited  us  to  join  them  for  the  season.  Seven 
gentlemen  of  the  party  started,  with  nineteen  horses, 
tents,  provisions,  etc.,  for  a  hunt  after  antelopes  and 
grizzly  bears,  their  destination  being  some  thirty  miles 
from  Maple  Creek.  They  expected  to  be  gone  a  week, 
and  of  course  each  man  was  anxious  to  bag  his  ante- 
lope or  have  a  wrestle  with  a  bear  ;  in  the  meantime 
we  had  to  be  content  to  worry  the  prairie-chicken  and 
mallard  duck  with  our  dogs  and  guns. 

One  through  train  from  the  Pacific  and  one  from 
the  Atlantic  stop  here  for  a  few  minutes  each  day,  and 
on  their  arrival  the  platform  is  crowded  with  Indians 
dressed  up  in  their  best  bib  and  tucker,  which  means 
plenty  of  feathers,  paint  and  tomahawk.  With  a 


238  SPORT   INDEED 

special  eye  to  business  and  the  white  man's  pocket- 
book,  they  come  provided  with  their  peculiar  wares, 
such  as  buffalo  horns  nicely  mounted  as  hat-racks, 
trinkets  of  various  kinds,  pipes,  etc.  For  some  reason 
or  other  the  Indian  has  a  superstition  against  being 
photographed.  Now,  almost  every  train  has  its  kodak 
liend,  and  no  sooner  does  he  catch  a  glimpse  of  "  Poor 
Lo  "  than  out  comes  his  box  and  the  fun  begins.  "We 
saw  one  of  these  enthusiastic  fiends  try  to  get  a  snap 
shot  at  an  old  "  buck,"  but  he  didn't  meet  with  much 
success.  The  moment  the  old  fellow  saw  the  pho- 
tographer getting  ready  to  point  his  box  he  rushed  at 
him  with  an  uplifted  stick,  jammed  him  against  the 
car,  took  possession  of  his  kodak  and  doubtless  would 
have  wiped  up  the  floor  with  the  picture-taker  had  the 
mounted  police  not  interfered  and  ordered  him  back 
into  the  train.  Yet  the  fiend  wasn't  satisfied.  He 
went  into  the  car  and  thrust  the  camera  out  of  one  of 
the  windows.  Instantly  the  alarm  was  given,  and 
every  squaw  and  brave,  to  the  number  of  thirty  or 
more,  dived  under  the  station  platform,  leaving  the 
discomfited  artist  to  the  jeers  and  hooting  of  the 
crowd.  One  of  the  ladies  of  our  hunting  car,  not 
knowing  of  this  trait  in  the  Indian's  character,  saw  a 
bunch  of  squaws  lounging  around.  She  got  out  her 
kodak  and  commenced  to  fix  it  for  a  snap  shot,  when 
one  of  the  squaws  pantomimically  threatened  her  with 
violence  if  she  turned  "  that  eye  "  on  them.  The  lady 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         239 

didn't  understand  the  pantomime  and  proceeded  to 
take  the  picture.  The  squaw  very  angrily  pulled  a  big 
stone  out  from  under  her  blanket  and  threw  it  with 
all  her  force,  hitting  her  on  the  wrist  and  inflicting  a 
painful  wound.  There  was  no  further  use  for  the  ko- 
dak on  that  car  for  awhile.  The  telegraph  operator 
told  me  that  the  Indians  are  equally  afraid  of  the 
"  ticker,"  and  it  is  hard  work  to  get  them  near  it. 

On  the  night  of  the  great  prize-fight  between  Sulli- 
van and  Corbett  the  cowboys,  ranchers,  railway  men, 
and  in  fact  all  the  inhabitants  of  this  frontier  settle- 
ment, were  in  and  around  the  station.  The  news- 
papers of  Montana,  the  Dakotas  and  Nebraska  having 
formed  a  syndicate  to  have  the  news  wired  to  them  in 
detail,  it  was  sent  over  the  Canadian  Pacific  wires. 
The  operator  sat  in  his  office  and  in  a  conversational 
tone  read  the  account  of  the  fight  as  it  passed  over  the 
wires,  when  it  would  be  communicated  to  the  outside 
crowd.  Towards  the  last,  when  the  "  big  fellow  "  was 
getting  the  worst  of  it,  the  excitement  of  the  listeners 
was  so  great  that  they  couldn't  keep  still.  Even  the 
stolid  Indian  got  enthused  and  grunted  his  satisfac- 
tion, and  when  the  last  sentence  was  ticked  out  then 
pandemonium  was  let  loose.  The  only  hotel  in  the 
town  was  besieged  with  thirsty  customers,  and  all 
night  long  the  yelpings  of  the  coyote  were  blended 
with  the  yells  of  excited  humanity. 

The  Bishop  of  Q'Appell,  who  is  a  baronet  of  Eng- 


240  SPORT   INDEED 

land  as  well  as  Bishop,  preached  a  sermon  for  us  in  the 
little  chapel,  and  it  was  remarkable  for  its  profundity 
as  well  as  its  eloquence.  He  is  the  leader  in  a  move- 
ment among  the  Northwest  churchmen  which  is  in- 
tended to  give  new  life  to  the  Church  of  England  by 
trying  to  arouse  it  from  its  apparent  lethargy  and  by 
claiming  for  it  the  undivided  support  of  the  people, 
on  the  ground  of  its  traditions,  history  and  venerable 
age.  In  his  discourse  he  easily  disposed  of  the  dis- 
senting churches  and  then  in  a  learned  argument  paid 
his  respects  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  pro- 
ceeded to  show  that  the  Church  of  England  was  cen- 
turies older  than  the  Roman  Church.  It  seemed  a 
great  waste  of  force  to  preach  such  a  sermon  to  the 
handful  of  people  he  had  for  an  audience,  but  as  he 
leaves  this  country  to  spend  his  last  days  in  England, 
after  preaching  here  for  twenty-six  years,  he  no  doubt 
thought  it  well  to  give  the  Canadians  something  to 
think  about. 

The  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  being  the  most  acces- 
sible route  between  Alaska  and  the  East,  some  very 
valuable  train  loads  of  merchandise  pass  over  its  rails. 
Probably  one  of  the  most  precious  loads  ever  hauled 
by  a  locomotive,  in  the  same  number  of  cars,  was  one 
made  up  of  sealskins,  filling  ten  cars,  and  booked 
through  to  London.  Each  car  was  valued  at  over 
$200,000— over  $2,000,000  in  all.  The  train  had  a 
wreck  coming  down  the  slopes  of  the  Rocky  Houn- 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         241 

tains.  It  parted  in  two,  the  back  portion  running  into 
the  front  and  smashing  things  up  very  generally. 
What  a  calamity  it  would  have  been — what  a  rude 
shock  to  the  American  feminine  heart — had  that  train 
and  its  precious  cargo  been  destroyed  by  fire !  How 
many  of  the  "  lords  of  creation  "  would  have  been 
obliged  to  put  their  hand  a  little  deeper  into  their 
Christmas  pocket  if  the  heart  of  their  better-half 
should  chance  to  be  filled  with  love  for  a  new 
sealskin  !  But,  thanks  to  a  providential  decree  that 
ordered  otherwise,  the  calamity  didn't  happen.  The 
train  passed  in  safety,  and  its  beloved  cargo,  having 
survived  the  boisterous  gales  of  the  Atlantic,  came 
back  to  us,  no  doubt,  in  the  shape  of  that  most  beau- 
tiful of  all  the  adorning  apparel  of  woman,  the  warm, 
glossy,  cozy,  fascinatingly  lovely,  but  awfully  expen- 
sive, sealskin  sacque. 

We  reached  Crane  Lake  on  September  20th.  Dur- 
ing our  ride  in  the  hunting  car  "Yellowstone"  we 
had  matured  our  plans  for  a  big  day's  sport,  and  we 
got  it.  I  saw  more  sport  in  that  one  day — the  21st — 
than  I  ever  saw  before  in  a  month.  To  briefly  sketch 
the  exciting  incidents  of  the  day  would,  perhaps,  prove 
interesting,  as  all  mankind,  particularly  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  part  of  it,  has  an  instinctive  interest,  more  or 
less  keen,  in  everything  that  relates  to  hunting. 

There  were  four  of  us.  We  got  up  long  before 
break  of  day  as  silently  as  we  could,  so  as  not  to  dis- 


242  SPORT   INDEED 

turb  the  ladies  of  the  party  (for,  mind  you,  there  were 
five  of  them  journeying  across  the  continent  and  back 
in  the  "  Yellowstone " ).  We  got  away  about  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  just  as  the  geese  were  com- 
mencing to  fly  from  the  lake  to  the  neighboring  wheat- 
fields.  We  were  posted  along  a  low  ridge,  with  strict 
orders  to  lie  down  quiet  and  snug  in  some  thorn 
bushes.  (If  the  reader  has  ever  tried  "  lying  down 
quiet  and  snug  in  a  thorn  bush  "  he  will  understand 
why  it  requires  practice.)  When  a  flock  came  near 
we  were  to  jump  up,  single  out  a  goose  and  give  him 
some  No.  1  shot. 

The  day  was  breaking  in  the  east  and  shedding  its 
faint  gray  light  over  the  prairie.  The  dainty  colors  of 
the  wild  flowers,  their  pale  yellows,  their  pinks  and 
their  purples  were  just  becoming  discernible  in  Nature's 
prairie  panorama  which  she  was  now  unrolling  before 
us  to  rapture  our  sense  with  its  beauty. 

And  now  comes  the  cry  of  the  wild  goose :  "  Honk  ! 
Honk  !  Honk  !  "  Looking  up  we  saw  a  long  line  of 
them  approaching  high  overhead.  Crack  !  went  the 
guns  and  away  went  the  geese  leaving  none  of  their 
company  behind.  Down  we  dodged  again  and  an- 
other flock  came  in  sight.  As  before,  another  go  of 
the  guns  and  another  go  of  the  geese ;  and  thus  flock 
after  flock  flew  over  us  in  their  particular  wedge-shape 
order,  but  all  too  high.  However,  we  ventured  an- 
other crack  at  them.  This  time  one  was  seen  to  drop 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         243 

down  a  little,  recover  himself,  get  back  into  the  flock, 
drop  again  a  few  yards,  and  then,  to  our  surprise, 
tumble  heels  over  head,  striking  the  earth  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away.  A  grain  of  buckshot  did  the  work. 

The  morning  flight  was  over  and  only  one  goose 
was  bagged.  We  munched  a  few  apples,  then  took 
setter  dogs  and  started  for  the  gamey  prairie-chicken, 
which  out  here  is  really  the  pin-tailed  grouse  that  goes 
before  civilization,  while  the  regular  prairie-hen  fol- 
lows after  it.  The  first  bird  flushed  was  taken  by  the 
youngest  shot,  my  son  James — boy  of  15  years — and 
beautifully  stopped.  The  second  bird  was  similarly 
treated  by  the  same  gunner.  The  birds  were  popping 
up  all  around,  and  we  all  got  our  share. 

We  went  back  to  the  car,  had  breakfast,  and  were  off 
again  on  a  tramp  to  Crane  Lake,  about  four  miles 
away.  Keaching  the  water,  we  found  it  literally 
covered  in  places  with  ducks,  snipe,  geese,  yellow  legs, 
pelicans,  curlew  and  plover.  A  few  shots  started  the 
whole  aggregation  in  motion — mallards,  plover  and 
Wilson  snipe  began  to  tumble  until  we  were  loaded 
with  all  we  could  carry.  A  gunner  away  off  across 
the  prairie  was  heard  to  fire  two  barrels,  then  to  shout, 
jump,  run,  and  throw  his  hands  up.  No  one  seemed 
to  know  what  was  disturbing  him,  but  in  a  moment 
we  saw  two  dogs  coming  at  a  furious  rate.  No ;  one 
was  a  coyote,  the  other  a  dog  in  full  chase.  Four 
guns  were  discharged  with  No.  5  shot  at  the  slinking 


244  SPORT   INDEED 

coyote,  but  he  got  out  of  danger  in  a  few  minutes. 
Then  a  monster  bird  came  flapping  leisurely  around 
the  shore.  It  was  a  pelican,  and,  as  if  to  chaff  us  into 
wasting  our  shells,  he  flapped  serenely  by  in  front  of 
each  gunner  several  times,  each  time  getting  the  con- 
tents of  shells  from  No.  5  down  to  buckshot.  He  was 
hit  from  every  angle,  some  twenty-five  shells  in  all 
having  been  fired  at  him.  We  could  hear  the  shot 
strike  and  then  drop  into  the  water,  and  yet  Mr. 
Pelican  "  winked  the  other  eye  "  and  will  continue  to 
wink  it  at  anything  less  than  a  rifle. 

With  our  game  belts  loaded  to  their  fullest  capacity 
(mine  must  have  weighed  forty  pounds,  although  it 
felt  like  forty  tons),  we  started  back,  killing  more 
prairie-chickens  on  the  road,  and  arriving  in  time  for 
dinner  (five  o'clock),  having  been  out  just  twelve 
hours.  What  exhilaration  was  crowded  into  those 
twelve  hours  !  One  who  has  never  been  out  in  this  rari- 
fied  and  highly-electric  atmosphere  cannot  conceive  the 
joys  of  such  a  hunt  on  such  a  day.  The  sun  was 
pleasantly  warm,  its  rays  being  tempered  with  a  cool 
wind  that  waved  the  tall  grass  and  rippled  the  water 
so  that  it  shone  in  the  distance  like  burnished  silver. 
Along  the  edge  of  the  sloughs  a  row  of  willows  bent 
their  lithe  limbs  to  the  breeze  and  gave  a  graceful  nod 
to  each  whiff  as  it  passed  on  its  way  laden  with  the 
breath  of  prairie  flowers.  Surely,  such  Paradisal  sur- 
roundings should  satisfy  any  man's  fancy,  whether  it 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         245 

belong  to  a  hunter  or  to  him  whose  ear  can  mark  no 
difference  'twixt  the  honk  of  a  wild  goose  and  the 
crow  of  a  barnyard  rooster. 

After  dinner  we  had  singing,  whistling,  by  as  good 
a  whistler  as  ever  "  cocked  a  lip,"  and  piano  playing 
by  two  of  the  ladies  who  were  good  musicians.  When 
our  concert  was  over  and  we  were  about  retiring,  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  car  door,  and  the  members  of 
the  only  family  residing  within  miles  of  the  station 
were  announced  as  callers.  So  again  the  strains  of 
one  of  Beethoven's  immortal  sonatas  and  a  nocturne 
of  Chopin's  were  invoked  to  entertain  the  visitors,  who 
were  two  ladies  and  a  gentleman — the  latter  superin- 
tending a  ranch  of  10,000  acres.  The  latest  fashions, 
the  price  of  wheat,  the  climate,  the  habits  of  the  wild 
fowl  around  the  lake  and  various  other  topics  were 
discussed.  After  a  pleasant  two  hours'  entertainment 
the  visitors  were  shown  to  the  car  door  and  left  us  say- 
ing it  was  the  pleasantest  night  they  had  ever  spent 
in  their  lives.  So  ended  our  day's  hunt  and  pleasure 
at  Crane  Lake,  Assiniboia  Territory. 

For  months  there  was  no  rain  in  the  regions  gunned 
over  by  our  party,  and  we  pursued  our  sport  without 
alloy  or  hindrance.  When  we  were  on  the  Frazer  River, 
in  Vancouver,  seven  of  our  party  who  had  started 
away  on  a  hunt  after  caribou  and  bears,  returned  to 
the  car,  after  a  trip  of  seven  days,  during  which  time 
they  rode  130  miles  over  an  almost  impenetrable 


246  SPORT   INDEED 

country,  and  among  the  mountains  some  4,500  feet 
above  tide  level.  For  eight  miles  of  that  distance  the 
road  was  so  rough  that  horses  could  not  be  taken 
through,  and  the  camp  stuff  had  to  be  dragged  and 
pitched  over  fallen  timber,  around  rocks  and  under 
and  over  them.  One  of  the  party  claimed  this  to  be 
his  twenty-second  annual  hunting  trip,  and  he  vowed 
he  never  saw  anything  to  equal  it  for  roughness  and 
difficulties.  They  bristled  with  every  step.  One 
caribou  and  three  deer  were  shot,  and  as  they  couldn't 
drag  their  game  out  of  the  country  after  killing  it 
they  gave  up  the  hunt  as  a  bad  job  and  returned  to 
the  car,  having  taken  three  days  to  go  up  the  moun- 
tains and  two  to  return. 

Two  of  the  hunters  were  determined  to  get  some 
big  game,  even  if  they  had  to  go  alone  after  it.  They 
hired  an  Indian  guide  and  a  cook,  got  packhorses  and 
provisions  and  again  started  out  into  the  mountains 
where  they  proposed  hunting  big-horn-sheep  up  above 
the  snow  line.  They  made  their  way  through  from 
Canadian  territory  into  the  United  States,  arriving  at 
Spokane,  Washington,  a  distance  of  245  miles,  camp- 
ing up  in  the  snow  for  several  days,  climbing  around 
snow  peaks  in  moccasins,  but  always  trying  to  keep 
face  to  the  wind.  They  finally  succeeded  in  killing 
four  mountain  sheep  and  three  deer,  but  the  hardships 
they  had  endured,  as  evidenced  by  their  torn  flesh  and 
clothing,  will  keep  them  from  trying  it  again,  for 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         247 

some  time  at  least.  As  years  glide  by  and  civilization 
approaches  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  great  mountain 
ranges,  the  big-horns  and  wild  goats  of  the  snow- 
covered  peaks  are  pushed  farther  and  farther  back,  so 
that  it  will  not  be  long  before  these  nimble-footed 
and  beautiful  creatures  will  follow  the  fate  of  the 
buffalo. 

At  Sicamous,  a  town  of  about  one  hundred  people, 
on  the  main  line  of  the  C.  P.  E.  R.,  in  British  Colum- 
bia, lives  Colonel  Forester  who  was  in  China  when  the 
great  rebellion  broke  out  in  which  General  Gordon 
won  his  fame.  Colonel  Forester  was  requested  by  the 
foreign  merchants  in  China  to  organize  and  drill  what 
forces  could  be  hastily  gathered  up,  and  to  take  charge 
of  the  defense  ;  which  he  did,  and  so  successfully  that 
he  was  offered  supreme  command  of  the  forces  operating 
against  the  rebels.  He  declined,  however,  in  favor  of 
General  Gordon.  He  has  a  large  number  of  decora- 
tions, presents  and  letters  testifying  to  his  bravery  and 
executive  ability,  and  is  quietly  and  modestly  living 
out  the  remnant  of  his  days  in  this  lonely  hamlet. 

The  scenery  along  the  Frazer  River  is  of  the  wild- 
est, most  interesting  and  most  startling  character. 
Fabulous  amounts  of  money  were  spent  in  the  con- 
struction of  this  part  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway. 
For  a  great  distance  it  is  a  succession  of  tunnels,  tres- 
tles, bridges  and  deep  rock  cuttings,  the  line  clinging 
to  the  bald  sides  of  the  mountains  and  overlooking  the 


248  SPORT   INDEED 

Frazer  River  that  rushes  along  seething  and  foaming, 
and  in  some  places  a  thousand  feet  below.  On  the 
opposite  side  is  the  old  government  road,  which  was 
made  necessary  years  ago  by  reason  of  the  gold  excite- 
ment on  this  river,  and  also  to  facilitate  the  valuable 
salmon  fishing.  The  road  is  now  rapidly  going  to 
ruin.  We  passed  thousands  of  frames  of  fishing  tents 
left  standing  by  their  Indian  owners.  Wherever  the 
river  narrowed  to  a  gorge,  there  they  could  be  seen  in 
the  most  inaccessible  positions  and  fixed  on  the  rocks 
like  so  many  barnacles.  How  the  Indians  managed 
to  get  there  or  to  stay  when  they  did  get  there,  it  is 
hard  to  imagine. 

The  town  of  Vancouver  has  experienced  a  real  estate 
fever  of  a  very  acute  and  inflammatory  character. 
This  was  owing  to  its  being  the  terminus  of  the 
Canadian  Pacific  and  also  of  the  magnificent  line  of 
steamers  running  to  China  and  Japan.  The  town, 
with  a  population  of  about  15,000,  is  situated  on  a  fine 
bay,  with  a  rich  mineral,  lumber  and  agricultural  coun- 
try tributary  to  it.  The  grit  and  enterprise  displayed 
there  is  something  that  our  eastern  cities  might  copy 
with  advantage.  The  Northern  Pacific  Railroad 
wanted  to  have  an  entrance  there  in  order  to  reap  a 
share  in  the  rich  Oriental  trade  pouring  through  the 
town  from  the  great  steamers  plying  to  Japan.  What 
did  this  little  town  of  15,000  people  do  to  encourage 
the  designs  of  the  railway  people?  They  put  the 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         249 

question  to  popular  vote,  and  the  result  was  that  they 
decided  to  give  the  railroad  $300,000  as  a  bonus  to 
enter  the  town. 

We  arrived  at  Morley,  Alberta,  September  25th. 
The  town  consisted  at  that  time  of  one  store,  three 
dwellings  and  the  railroad  station,  having  a  total 
population  of  about  twenty.  It  is  of  importance  by 
reason  of  its  being  the  distributing  point  for  the  reser- 
vation of  the  tribe  of  Stoney  Indians.  Large  herds  of 
cattle  are  pastured  there  by  the  Canadian  Govern- 
ment to  provide  a  weekly  supply  of  meat  during  the 
year  for  the  Indians,  and  the  annual  payment  of  five 
dollars  per  head  is  made  and  blankets  distributed  in 
accordance  with  the  treaty  stipulations. 

The  Indians  are  settled  along  the  valley  of  the  Bow 
River,  some  in  tepees,  but  most  of  them  in  substantial 
and  well-built  log  houses,  each  family  having  a  small 
cultivated  patch  of  ground  on  which  they  raise  vegeta- 
bles. Their  ponies  are  hobbled  near  by  and  their 
cattle  range  the  prairie.  They  spend  a  happy,  con- 
tented life,  altogether  different  from  the  non-treaty 
Indians  whose  bad  traits  I  observed  so  markedly  in 
Maple  Creek,  and  whose  good  qualities  were  not  to  be 
observed  with  the  naked  eye.  I  talked  with  a  number 
of  those  who  spoke  English,  and  spoke  it  quite  as  well 
as  the  majority  of  white  men.  They  had  traveled 
some,  could  read  and  write,  treated  their  wives  and 
families  with  consideration,  and,  moreover,  had  accumu- 


250  SPORT   INDEED 

lated  a  little  wealth  outside  of  the  government  allow- 
ance. 

One  Indian  told  me  that  he  had  not  seen  his  father 
since  he  was  a  boy,  until  this  summer  when  the  father 
wrote  him  a  letter  asking  him  to  visit  him  at  a 
point  a  long  distance  still  further  north.  He  took  a 
team  of  horses  and  drove  there,  the  round  trip  occupy- 
ing two  weeks  of  traveling.  He  spent  one  week  with 
his  parents,  and  spoke  of  them  affectionately. 

The  Stoney  tribe  speak  the  "  Cree  "  language  and 
belong  to  that  race  of  brave  fighters.  A  Mr.  McDou- 
gal,  who  resides  near  Morley,  has  translated  the  Bible 
and  the  New  Testament,  as  well  as  a  book  of  hymns, 
into  the  Cree  characters,  which  are  said  to  be  very 
simple  and  easily  learned.  He  also  preaches  to  the 
tribe  and  instructs  them  in  their  own  tongue.  He  is 
a  wealthy  rancher,  one  of  the  oldest  residents,  and  has 
seen  the  prairies  when  they  teemed  with  roaming 
herds  of  buffalo,  elk,  antelope  and  deer.  His  house 
contains  more  stuffed  specimens  of  animated  nature 
than  any  other  in  this  territory. 

Some  years  since  an  enthusiastic  young  woman  went 
to  Morley  as  a  missionary  from  Massachusetts.  She 
was  very  successful  in  her  work,  and  among  her  con- 
verts was  a  "  noble  Indian,"  whom  she  induced  to  go 
to  college  where  he  studied  faithfully  and  well.  On 
graduating  he  was  ordained  to  the  ministry,  went  back 
to  Morley,  made  love  to  the  young  missionary,  was 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         251 

accepted  and  married  her.  They  are  happy,  and 
though  the  wife's  family  is  said  to  have  ostracized  her 
she  seems  to  be  satisfied. 

Thirteen  of  our  party,  including  four  ladies,  started 
on  a  prairie-chicken  hunt  to  a  point  some  twelve  miles 
away.  As  the  Indians  indulge  in  shooting  chickens 
from  the  saddles  of  their  ponies,  thus  depleting  their 
numbers,  it  was  necessary  to  take  teams  and  drive  this 
distance  before  we  found  the  birds  which  even  then 
were  in  only  limited  numbers  and  as  wild  as  hares. 
When  we  arrived  on  the  shooting  ground  it  was  nearly 
noon,  and  as  the  birds  had  finished  their  morning 
feeding  and  were  found  on  the  edge  of  the  brush 
fringing  a  little  stream,  we  had  hard  work  getting 
more  than  a  glimpse  of  them  before  they  would  be 
out  of  sight.  Taking  long  flights  made  it  slow  shoot- 
ing. However  we  made  a  fairly  good  bag,  and,  as  it 
is  always  the  practice  of  sportsmen  and  sportswomen 
to  shoot  only  what  they  can  use  to  advantage,  we 
gave  up  the  sport  and  the  hard  work  in  good  season 
and  enjoyed  a  glorious  ride  back,  watching  the  forms 
and  ever-changing  shadows  of  the  Kocky  Mountains, 
which,  though  eighteen  miles  distant,  seemed  close 
enough  to  be  reached  in  a  half-hour's  walk. 

We  were  told  that,  at  Bow  Kiver,  all  we  had  to  do 
was  to  throw  in  our  fish-lines,  and,  with  any  sort  of  a 
fly,  we  could  catch  all  the  speckled  trout  we  could 
handle,  and  that  Morley  was  the  point  on  the  Bow 


252  SPORT    INDEED 

which  gave  the  best  results ;  but — how  often  these 
"  buts  "  come  in  to  upset  trout-fishing  calculation,  and 
this  particular  "  but "  did  it  effectually — a  road  mas- 
ter on  the  Canadian  Pacific  had  been  drowned  in  the 
treacherous  current,  and  the  authorities,  hoping  to 
bring  his  body  to  the  surface,  exploded  dynamite  in  all 
the  pools  up  and  down  the  river  for  five  miles.  These 
explosions,  though  they  did  not  raise  the  body,  cer- 
tainly did  raise  the  d 1  with  the  fish,  killing  nearly 

all  of  them.  And  thus,  once  more,  our  fancy  and  fond 
hopes  of  hauling  in  the  speckled  beauties  on  our  seven- 
ounce  rods  were  scattered  to  the  winds.  After  a  whole 
day's  throwing  and  coaxing  with  all  sorts  of  flies, 
minnows  and  bait,  we  succeeded  in  landing  only  a  pal- 
try dozen  or  so. 

Ten  persons  having  lost  their  lives  in  the  river  near 
here  within  a  few  months,  the  ranchers,  cowboys,  and 
even  the  Indians,  hold  it  very  much  in  awe.  The 
water  is  icy  cold,  from  the  melting  snow  and  ice  that 
rushes  down  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  ;  the  current 
is  swift  and  full  of  eddies,  rapids  and  whirlpools ;  and 
the  stone  on  the  bottom  slippery  as  an  eel.  Woe  be- 
tide the  man  who  should  lose  his  footing  in  fording 
and  get  overhead  in  it.  His  chances  of  getting  out 
would  be  slim  indeed. 

We  arrived  in  Banff  early  in  the  morning  and 
slipped  out  before  breakfast  to  see  the  town  and  spy 
out  the  points  of  attraction  which  the  Canadian  Pa- 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         253 

cific  has  set  such  store  by.  The  town  is  nil — nein— 
nix.  A  few  log  huts,  a  small  brick  church,  a  dozen  or 
more  frame-shanty  stores,  and  stumps  and  fallen  trees 
galore. 

But  the  attractions  are  there,  and  they  are  attrac- 
tions, too,  with  no  nonsense  about  them.  "  Whatever 
the  company  has  advertised  to  perform,  that  it  will 
perform,  or  your  money  refunded,"  would  apply  very 
well.  The  luxurious  C.  P.  E.  K.  Hotel,  about  two 
miles  from  the  station,  newly  built,  superbly  furnished 
and  lighted,  spacious,  comfortable  and  well  kept,  is  a 
"number-one"  drawing  card.  A  sanitarium,  a  few 
pretty,  small  hotels,  glorious  drives  among  glorious 
mountains  capped  with  everlasting  snow,  a  park, 
twenty-six  miles  long  by  ten  miles  wide,  embracing 
parts  of  the  Bow,  Spray  and  Cascade  Eivers  ;  the  Hot 
Sulphur  Springs,  the  Warm  Sulphur  Springs,  bridle 
paths  and  walks  up  the  various  peaks,  and  the  un- 
rivaled landscape  all  aglow  with  the  brilliant  tints  of 
its  autumn  foliage,  make  a  combination  of  attractions 
that  has  already  proved  strong  enough  to  draw  tour- 
ists from  all  parts  of  this  Continent  and  a  great  many 
from  Europe  as  well — a  fact  that  the  register  at  the 
big  hotel  fully  attests. 

My  choice  in  this  list  of  attractions  was  to  take  a 
warm  sulphur  bath  and  then  scale  a  mountain.  Now, 
isn't  it  unique  to  take  a  bath  in  an  enclosure  open  at 
the  top,  where  the  white  caps  of  the  mountains  are 


254  SPORT   INDEED 

seen  all  around  you  and  the  rain  pouring  in  ?  And 
yet  we  swam  in  a  pool  of  sulphur  water  at  the  natural 
temperature  of  ninety  degrees,  and  with  plenty  of 
room  for  diving,  fancy  swimming  and  frolics  gen- 
erally. 

The  mountain  climb  was  equally  worthy  of  remem- 
brance. I  wasn't  at  all  ambitious  of  tackling  any  of 
those  giants  that  stand  six  thousand  feet  tall  in  their 
stocking  feet.  Oh,  no;  I  selected  a  modest  twelve 
hundred-foot  fellow  called  Tunnel  Mountain,  and  in 
face  of  fierce  winds  and  gusts  of  rain  (which  on  the 
higher  peaks  fell  in  the  form  of  snow)  I  scaled  it  in 
about  an  hour  and  a-half.  The  view  from  the  top  was 
enchanting.  Neither  poet  nor  painter  could  describe 
or  picture  it ;  and  therefore  I,  who  have  not  the  gift 
of  either,  will  not  attempt  it.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the 
scene  is  still  in  my  memory  and  Time  can't  rub  it  out. 

Coming  down,  like  numerous  other  would-be  smart 
ones,  I  thought  it  an  easy  matter  to  leave  the  care- 
fully graded  path,  and  by  traveling  straight  down 
save  time  and  distance.  Very  soon  my  feet  slipped 
from  under  me;  down  on  my  back  I  slid,  grasping  at 
shrubs,  stones  and  plants  in  my  rapid  descent  which 
kept  up  until  its  unpleasant  speed  was  stopped  by  run- 
ning into  a  tree.  With  scratched  hands,  torn  pants,  a 
bruised  back  and  a  little  more  wisdom,  I  concluded  to 
keep  to  the  path  for  the  remainder  of  the  distance. 

Did  it  ever  strike  you  how  many  difficulties  there 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         255 

are  to  be  encountered,  distances  to  be  covered  and 
obstacles  to  be  surmounted  in  the  search  after  speckled 
trout  ?  It  struck  us,  but  not  until  after  we  had  tried 
it.  We  had  so  many  broken  promises  of  good  trout 
fishing  on  this  trip  and  so  many  disappointments,  that 
when  we  reached  Banff  and  found  that — although 
there  was  any  quantity  of  the  fish  there — it  was  close 
season  in  the  park  and  we  couldn't  fish,  we  were  about 
giving  up  all  idea  of  ever  seeing  a  trout.  Just  then 
we  stumbled  over  a  fellow  who  told  us  of  a  wonderful 
little  lake,  recently  discovered  and  only  fished  in  for 
the  first  time  two  months  ago.  He  said  the  lake  was 
located  at  Castle  Mountain,  seventeen  miles  from 
Banff. 

Taking  his  word  that  it  was  full  of  trout,  and  not- 
withstanding his  warning  that  he  doubted  whether 
our  power  of  roughing  it  would  hold  out  till  we  got 
there,  we  determined  to  go  and  find  out  whether  he 
was  a  fish  romancer  or  not.  Our  car  was  pulled  there 
in  the  early  morning.  A  guide  had  come  with  us  from 
Banff,  who  filled  us  with  glowing  predictions  of  the 
luck  we  were  going  to  have,  but  kept  very  dark  about 
the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  trip.  Seven  of  us 
started  with  him,  unconscious  of  what  was  before  us. 
He  had  led  us  along  a  small  creek  to  a  frail  crossing 
made  by  a  fallen  tree.  This  was  so  slippery  that  one 
of  our  party  lost  his  footing,  tumbled,  and  had  to  go 
back  for  dry  clothes. 


256  SPORT   INDEED 

"We  then  came  to  the  Bow  Kiver,  which  here  is  a 
raging  torrent,  deep  and  treacherous.  Stretched 
across  diagonally  was  a  very  long  boom,  made  by 
strapping  together  a  string  of  two  logs  which  were 
held  to  the  shore  by  stout,  wire  cables.  It  is  the  only 
crossing  within  seventeen  miles  of  Banff,  and  one  not 
calculated  to  inspire  confidence  in  the  crosser.  The 
boom  was  swaying  up  and  down  in  the  fierce  rush  of 
waters,  the  torrent  surging  over  the  logs,  the  inner 
one  of  which  was  half-covered  with  slimy,  rotten  bark 
that  peeled  and  slipped  off  under  foot. 

The  guide's  shoes  were  armed  with  sharp-pointed 
spikes,  which  enabled  him  to  skip  across  the  logs  with 
the  ease  and  grace  of  a  dancing  master ;  we  had  on 
rubber  boots,  slippery  as  glass.  There  were  two  logs 
reaching  to  the  boom,  and  the  guide  seeing  we  were 
not  in  his  skipping  condition  advised  us  to  creep  over 
them  on  our  hands  and  knees. 

Four  of  us  started  across  with  our  feet  placed  cross- 
wise of  the  logs.  When  we  were  about  a  third  of  the 
way  over  the  guide  halloed  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 
"Look  out  you  don't  slip  over;  if  you  do,  hang  on 
to  the  logs  like  grim  death  or  you're  a  goner !  No 
man  can  swim  in  this  water;  he'd  be  sucked  under 
and  into  Davy  Jones'  locker  'fore  he  could  say  Jack 
Robinson ! " 

This  cheerful  bit  of  information  had  the  effect  of 
making  us  doubly  cautious.  By  dint  of  balancing  and 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST        257 

poising  and  feeling  with  our  feet  for  the  least  slimy 
places  we  at  last  got  safely  over.  "We  then  had  time 
to  realize  what  idiotic  fools  we  had  been  to  risk  our 
lives  on  such  a  crossing,  and,  for  what  ?  — a  few  trout. 

We  motioned  to  the  three  men  we  left  on  the  other 
side  not  to  attempt  the  passage.  They  signalled  "  all 
right,"  and  we  started  ahead.  Afterwards  one  of  the 
three  made  up  his  mind  to  try  it.  He  labored  along 
very  cautiously  until  near  the  middle,  then  his  foot 
slipped  and  in  a  twinkling  he  was  struggling  with  the 
stream.  Fortunately  for  him,  he  fell  on  the  inside. 
He  was  a  strong,  athletic  young  man,  and  managed  to 
throw  an  arm  around  the  inside  log  before  his  body 
could  be  sucked  under  ;  then  by  an  almost  superhuman 
effort  he  pulled  himself  on  to  the  boom  again.  Hav- 
ing got  back  safely  he  went  to  the  car  for  a  change  of 
clothes.  To-day  he  is  full  of  thanks  to  Providence  for 
his  narrow  escape  ;  and  well  he  may  be,  for  his  chance 
of  life  in  that  caldron  of  ice  water  was — well,  one  in 
a  hundred. 

Shortly  after  leaving  the  river  we  struck  a  good 
trail  up  a  mountainside.  It  ended  in  an  almost  im- 
penetrable jungle  of  fire-swept  timber,  over,  under 
and  around  which  we  panted,  perspired  and  labored 
for  an  hour.  Then  suddenly,  as  if  by  magic,  there 
flashed  upon  our  sight  a  lovely  little  gem-of-a-lake 
circled  around  by  great  mountains,  whose  sides  were 
sheeted  with  snow  nearly  to  the  water's  edge.  "We  at 


258  SPORT   INDEED 

once  jointed  our  rods  and  baited  our  hooks  with  live 
grasshoppers,  of  which  we  had  plenty.  Hardly  had  I 
struck  my  line  into  the  water  when  a  speckled  beauty 
took  the  hook  ;  and  then  another  and  another,  and  for 
a  couple  of  hours  it  was  nothing  but  a  swish  of  the 
line  and  a  tussle  with  the  trout. 

Soon  we  had  as  many  as  we  could  carry.  Mean- 
while, the  men  we  left  behind  had,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  guide  who  had  returned  to  help  them, 
resurrected  an  old  scow  and  crossed.  About  two 
o'clock  they  appeared  with  a  welcome  lunch.  The 
car  log-book  of  game  credited  the  party  with  a  catch 
of  some  three  hundred  and  fifty  trout,  and  that  was 
certainly  enough  to  last  us  some  days,  as  we  had  them 
carefully  packed  away  in  the  refrigerator. 

Next  morning  our  car  was  coupled  to  the  Pacific 
express  and  hauled  to  that  wonderful  spot,  the  great 
Selkirk  Glacier.  An  excursion  was  promptly  made  to 
the  glacier,  which  is  said  to  be  seven  miles  long,  two 
miles  broad  and  of  solid  ice  2,000  feet  thick.  A  fine 
object  lesson  is  here  obtained  of  the  resistless  power 
of  the  ice  in  crushing,  powdering  and  moving  enor- 
mous masses  of  rocks.  Avalanches,  landslides  and 
terrific  storms  are  of  such  frequent  occurrence  during 
the  winter  and  spring  that  the  occupants  of  the  rail- 
road hotel  and  station  are  in  daily  terror  of  their 
lives. 

Early  one  morning  a  couple  of  our  sportsmen,  armed 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         261 

with  rifles,  started  away  from  the  car  hoping  to  get 
a  sight  of  a  bear.  Six  of  these  animals — two  grizzlies 
and  one  black  bear,  each  with  a  cub — were  reported 
to  be  feeding  on  berries  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away  from  the  station.  In  a  very  few  minutes  three 
shots  were  heard,  then  five  in  rapid  succession,  then 
another  shot,  and  we  divined  that  a  bear  had  surely 
fallen.  Excitement  ran  high  and  all  were  on  tiptoe 
of  expectation,  until  the  two  hunters  returned — with- 
out the  bear. 

It  took  some  time  for  the  truth  to  gleam  through  the 
glamour  surrounding  that  early  morning  encounter 
with  bruin,  and  here  it  is.  A  railway  employee  had 
located  the  bears  and  at  daylight  crept  down  among 
the  berry  bushes  where  they  were  expected  to  feed, 
and  patiently  waited  with  the  determination  of  bring- 
ing one  down.  The  track  here  makes  a  sharply  de- 
fined horseshoe  curve,  and  on  one  arm  of  this  curve  is 
a  snow-shed  a  mile  long.  One  of  our  hunters  had 
climbed  on  top  of  this  shed  and  walked  along  for  half 
its  length  when  he  saw  a  bear  come  out  in  an  open 
patch  seven  hundred  yards  away.  Now,  he  couldn't 
get  off  the  shed  without  going  to  the  end  of  it  and  by 
doing  this  he  feared  he  might  lose  sight  of  the  bear. 
So  to  lose  no  time  he  commenced  firing. 

The  other  hunter  saw  with  his  glass  a  man  down  in 
the  berry  patch  and  thought  hunter  number  one  was 
shooting  at  him.  The  man  in  the  berry  patch  seemed 


262  SPORT   INDEED 

to  think  so  too,  and  after  his  ears  had  listened  to  the 
close  whistle  of  seven  or  eight  bullets,  he  emerged 
from  the  bushes  and  walking  up  to  hunter  number  one 
opened  on  him  a  battery  of  "Western  words  that  fairly 
smoked  with  brimstone.  I'll  omit  them  here,  only 
saying  that  they  conveyed  the  idea  that  the  bullets 
had  nearly  hit  him.  "  Besides,"  he  said,  "  how  the 
devil  do  you  expect  to  shoot  bears  from  the  top  of  a 
snow-shed  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away  ?  " 

It  took  lots  of  oily  words  to  smooth  out  the  berry 
man's  waves  of  indignation.  After  warning  hunter 
number  one  that  if  he  valued  the  integrity  of  his  own 
hide  he  had  better  not  try  that  sort  of  fun  again,  but 
keep  his  bullets  in  their  pouch,  where  they  evidently 
belonged,  he  finally  agreed  to  an  armistice  and  a  drink 
of  whiskey. 

Number  two  had  in  the  meantime  followed  the  bear 
away  down  the  river  but  lost  the  trail  and  dejectedly 
returned,  adding  his  opinion  to  that  of  the  berry-bush 
man  :  "  The  idea  of  a  fellow  trying  to  shoot  a  bear 
from  the  top  of  a  snow-shed  and  across  a  whole 
county ! " 

And  now  we  reached  Lake  Okanagan,  where  we  re- 
solved to  try  our  guns  on  the  wild  geese  and  ducks. 

By  the  way,  like  the  immortal  Mrs.  O'Brien,  who, 
when  she  had  acquired  wealth  and  position  in  society, 
insisted  upon  calling  herself  Mrs.  O'Brion,  with  the 
accent  on  the  last  syllable,  Lake  Okanagan  is  not 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST        263 

Okanagan  at  all,  but  is  pronounced  Okanawgan,  ac- 
cent on  the  third  syllable.  It  is  named  after  a  tribe 
of  Indians  (a  branch  of  the  Chinook  race).  It  is  about 
eighty  miles  long  and  from  two  to  twelve  miles  in 
breadth,  and  is  well  filled  with  silver  trout,  salmon 
trout,  chub  and  lake  trout.  The  growing  town  of 
Vernon,  with  a  present  population  of  about  four  hun- 
dred, is  five  miles  from  it.  The  lake  is  bordered  by  a 
remarkably  fine  piece  of  ranching  and  agricultural 
country,  and  on  account  of  the  depth  and  coldness  of 
its  waters,  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  the  wealth  of 
wild  fowl  and  the  wonderful  climate,  it  is  destined  to 
become  a  prominent  summer  resort  for  residents  of 
the  Pacific  coast  near  Vancouver  and  Victoria. 

The  lake  and  the  town  of  Vernon  are  reached  by  a 
branch  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Eailroad  fifty-one 
miles  long.  This  branch,  though  in  operation  but  a 
comparatively  short  time,  is  already  paying  hand- 
somely. Previous  to  the  building  of  the  C.  P.  R.  R. 
main  line,  all  merchandise  had  to  be  transported  on 
packhorses  a  distance  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
from  Fort  Hope,  on  the  Frazer  River.  The  item  of 
freight  was  then  a  very  serious  one,  as  it  amounted  to 
eleven  cents  per  pound  on  sugar,  nails,  hardware, 
coffee  and  all  heavy  articles,  and  a  proportionately 
higher  rate  on  more  bulky  merchandise.  It  must  be 
from  this  reason  then,  that,  although  the  railroad  has 
not  been  opened  long  and  the  freight  charges  are  very 


264  SPORT   INDEED 

moderate,  the  merchants  have  not  got  used  to  the 
changed  condition  of  affairs. 

Everything  is  absurdly  high.  You  are  charged 
twenty-five  cents  for  a  shave,  fifty  cents  for  a  pint 
bottle  of  apollinaris  or  Bass'  ale,  and  corresponding 
prices  for  everything  else.  But  the  livery  stable  men 
are  the  real  Shylocks  of  the  town.  A  physician  was 
dilating  upon  the  qualities  of  a  very  good  young  mare 
he  had  just  bought  for  ten  dollars,  and  assured  me  he 
could  buy  any  number  of  them  at  that  price.  I  thought, 
as  horse  flesh  was  so  cheap,  I  should  be  able  to  enjoy 
many  drives  and  see  the  country  without  injuring  my 
pocket.  The  thought  was  hardly  a  sound  one.  At 
my  first  trial  of  it,  the  stable  man  charged  me  five 
dollars  for  a  very  sorry  looking  horse  and  a  dilapidated 
buggy  whose  years  might  have  equaled  those  of  the 
"  Deacon's  one  horse  shay."  The  charge  for  a  pair  of 
similar  looking  animals  and  a  similar  looking  wagon 
I  found  to  be  ten  dollars.  Such  modesty  is  rare. 

We  had  been  here  a  week,  and,  while  there  were 
three  livery  stables,  all  doing  a  rushing  trade,  we  had 
never  been  able  to  see  the  proprietor  of  any  of  them 
to  know  whether  the  charges  exacted  from  us  were 
warranted  or  not.  In  fact  each  proprietor  seemed  to 
be  more  interested  in  shooting  or  horse-racing  than  in 
looking  after  his  business. 

This  is  truly  a  wonderful  belt  of  country,  and  the 
most  fertile  we  have  yet  seen.  The  Presbyterian  min- 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         265 

ister  here  told  us  that  the  soil  in  places  is  fully  fifteen 
feet  deep  and  of  the  richest  black  loam.  The  wheat 
averages  over  thirty  bushels  to  the  acre  and  weighs 
sixty-five  to  sixty-six  pounds  to  the  bushel.  They 
make  no  rotation  in  planting.  It  is  wheat  and  wheat 
year  after  year.  We  saw  a  field  just  harvested  that 
produced  thirty-two  bushels  to  the  acre  which  had 
been  sown  with  wheat  for  twenty-three  consecutive 
years,  and  another  field  of  forty  acres  that  last  year 
had  not  been  sown,  but  simply  ploughed  under,  with 
the  previous  year's  stubble  on  it,  that  netted  its  owner 
(a  half-breed  Indian)  $700.  Fruits,  hops  and  vege- 
tables are  equally  prolific. 

The  climate  is  dry,  with  hot  days,  cold  nights  and 
few  sudden  changes.  September  days  are  as  hot  as 
those  of  July  and  the  nights  cold  enough  for  Novem- 
ber. The  only  doctor  in  the  neighborhood  told  me  he 
never  saw  nor  did  he  ever  read  of  such  a  healthy  dis- 
trict. Children  don't  get  sick.  People  eat  well,  sleep 
well  and  live  long,  and  the  only  business  on  which  a 
doctor  can  earn  his  living  comes  from  accidents  or 
from  practice  incidental  to  the  natural  increase  in  the 
population. 

One  of  England's  Earls,  at  one  time  Governor-Gen- 
eral of  Canada,  has  a  ranch  four  miles  away,  which 
is  managed  by  his  brother-in-law,  the  Hon.  Major 
Majoribanks.  He  also  has  another  ranch  of  several 
thousand  acres  at  Mission,  a  settlement  at  the  other 


266  SPORT   INDEED 

end  of  Lake  Okanagan.  His  lordship  owns  almost 
countless  herds  of  cattle  and  sheep  and  droves  of 
horses  and  pigs.  We  saw  a  couple  of  young  sports- 
men here  who  boasted  of  being  relatives  of  the  Duke 
of  Argyle ;  so  taking  it  altogether,  the  little  town  was 
full  of  fuss  and  noble  feathers.  The  Earl's  lower 
ranch,  Mission,  has  been  irrigated  and  rented  out  in 
plots  of  twenty  acres  or  more  to  fruit  farmers,  for 
whose  use  it  is  peculiarly  adapted. 

Four  of  us  had  good  sport  during  the  week,  shoot- 
ing prairie-chickens,  ruffed  grouse  and  wild  geese.  A 
little  lake  four  miles  away  was  almost  covered  during 
daytime  with  the  geese  and  ducks.  The  geese  leave 
the  lake  every  morning  and  evening  to  feed  on  the 
stubble  left  standing  in  the  wheat-fields,  and  on  their 
passage  to  and  fro  comes  the  only  chance  to  shoot 
them.  On  arriving  here  we  left  our  car,  selected  fa- 
vorable locations  for  sinking  pits  to  shoot  from,  and 
then  went  to  work  with  spades  and  a  railroad  crow- 
bar. After  the  plowed  surface  was  removed  the  earth 
was  found  to  be  almost  solid  black  loam,  and  as  this 
reached  down  as  far  as  we  went,  nearly  five  feet,  the 
digging  was  hard  enough  to  start  the  perspiration  and 
blister  our  hands.  When  the  pits  were  dug  a  couple 
of  dozen  sheet-iron,  decoy  geese  were  set  out ;  then 
we  covered  the  edges  of  the  pits  with  wheat  straw, 
hiding  every  lump  of  fresh-turned  earth,  so  that  noth- 
ing could  be  seen  which  would  excite  the  suspicion  of 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         267 

the  geese.  We  had  scarcely  finished  our  task  when 
we  heard  their  first  "  honk  !  honk  !  "  Down  into  the 
pits  we  tumbled  like  gophers,  and  crouching  together 
with  scarcely  breathing  room  we  saw  flock  after  flock 
sail  over  without  giving  much  attention  to  our  painted 
sham-geese.  Then  another  flock  came  which  had  more 
curiosity.  To  and  fro  they  sailed  by  us,  circling 
around  to  find  out  if  things  were  "  on  the  square," 
each  circle  bringing  them  lower  and  lower  until 
we  were  satisfied  they  were  within  gunshot.  Then 
up  we  jumped  and  blazed  away.  And  the  geese 
flew  off  apparently  untouched,  but  only  apparently ; 
we  saw  one  of  them  lag  behind,  then  drop  a  little, 
then  rise  to  the  flock,  and  in  a  second  or  two  tumble 
headlong  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  Another  faltered 
and  fell  a  half  a  mile  away.  We  found  the  first  with 
the  aid  of  a  dog,  hidden  in  a  bunch  of  grass ;  the 
other,  for  which  we  searched  in  vain,  was  found  by  a 
cowboy  two  days  after. 

Thus  early  in  the  morning  and  evening  we  were  in 
the  pits  enjoying  this  most  exciting  sport,  and  bagged 
enough  geese  to  supply  us  with  all  we  could  use,  and 
an  occasional  one  to  give  away.  At  this  season  of  the 
year  they  are  fat  and  delicious  eating. 

Six  gentlemen  of  our  party  started  on  a  "  big  game 
hunt "  into  the  district  of  the  Gold  rangre  of  moun- 

o 

tains  which  abounds  in  caribou,  grizzly  and  black  bear, 
Rocky  Mountain  goats  and  mountain  sheep.  They 


268  SPORT   INDEED 

took  with  them  three  Indian  guides,  a  white  cook,  and 
a  squaw  to  cook  for  the  guides.  As  their  camp  outfit 
had  to  be  carried  on  pack  horses  sixty-five  miles,  when 
they  started  off  they  made  a  very  respectable  caval- 
cade. The  roads,  as  well  as  the  hunting  ground,  are 
of  the  roughest  description,  and,  moreover,  as  each 
man  was  compelled  to  take  out  a  $50  license  to  shoot 
deer,  he  surely  earned  all  the  game  he  brought  back. 
As  far  as  we  can  learn  this  license  or  tax  is  only  levied 
on  Americans  (Yankees  we  are  called  here)  while  Eng- 
lishmen, Frenchmen  or  men  of  any  other  nationality 
are  never  required  to  take  out  a  license.  If  this  is 
really  so,  it  is  only  another  proof  of  Canada's  vexa- 
tious policy  toward  her  big  and  wealthy  neighbor. 
It  also  proves  how  short-sighted  they  are,  as  such  a 
policy  will  never  bring  reciprocity,  which  all  Cana- 
dians sigh  for,  but  retaliation,  which  they  can  ill 
afford,  and  which  is  as  unseemly  among  nations  as  it 
is  among  men. 

While  in  the  ticket  office  at  Vancouver,  British 
Columbia,  we  were  much  amused  at  a  party  of  three 
Englishmen  belonging  to  the  nobility  of  England, 
who  were  trying  to  engage  a  compartment  on  one  of 
the  C.  P.  R.  R's  first-class  cars.  They  couldn't,  "you 
know,"  travel  in  a  car  with  ordinary  people ;  but  the 
ticket  man  assured  them  there  was  nothing  else  for 
them  to  do,  as  there  were  no  compartments,  and  the 
company  could  not  arrange  one  before  the  train 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         269 

started,  no  matter  how  important  it  might  be  to 
them. 

They  agreed  to  pay  an  extra  fare  if  the  smoking 
end  of  the  car  could  be  reserved  for  them,  and  they 
authorized  the  conductor  to  tell  the  passengers  that 
they  were  cholera  suspects  or  smallpox  patients,  or 
anything  he  liked,  in  order  to  keep  the  "  common  peo- 
ple "  away  from  them.  But  all  to  no  purpose.  There 
was  but  one  alternative — take  their  "  medicine  "  or 
stay  behind. 

It  was  somewhat  amusing  to  hear  their  criticisms 
on  Uncle  Sam's  "frightfully  vulga'  country  and 
beastly  traveling,  don't  you  know." 

The  route  from  Vancouver,  in  British  Columbia,  to 
Seattle,  "Wash.,  lies  through  a  rough,  heavily  timbered 
district,  where  the  trees  measure  anywhere  from  three 
feet  to  six  feet  in  diameter.  These  are  of  the  red 
cedar  species  and  are  being  rapidly  sawed  down  and 
cut  into  lumber  and  shingles. 

"Why  it  is  I  cannot  tell,  but  it  certainly  is  neverthe- 
less— I  mean  that  the  railway  is  literally  lined  with  a 
row  of  bursted  boom-towns,  each  with  a  bladder-like 
name,  a  big  hotel,  a  public  hall,  maybe,  and  plenty  of 
saloons  flaring  suggestive  signs,  such  as  the  "  Blazing 
Stump  Saloon,"  "New  Idea  Saloon,"  "Three  of  a 
Kind  Saloon,"  "  Let  her  go  Gallagher  Saloon,"  etc., 
etc. 

Evidence  of  "  bustedness "  looms  up  everywhere. 


270  SPORT    INDEED 

Streets  deserted,  dwellings  vacated  and  closed,  and  no 
sign  of  life,  except  it  be  the  shingle  mills  and  the 
woodchoppers'  shanties  on  the  outskirts  and  away 
from  the  "  avenues "  and  "  boulevards "  that  grace 
these  silent  towns. 

A  real  estate  dealer  in  Seattle  told  me  that  the 
growth  of  his  town  had  been  much  retarded  by  in- 
vestments in  these  mushroom  spurts — investments 
which  promised  no  more  returns  to  the  investor  than 
if  he  used  his  capital  in  buying  up  town  lots  on  the 
moon,  or  in  leasing  the  rainbow  for  a  paint-shop. 

Seattle  and  Tacoma  are  less  than  forty  miles  apart, 
and  as  both  towns  are  ambitious  and  growing  there  is 
great  business  rivalry,  as  well  as  bitter  jealousy  be- 
tween them.  Each  claims  the  larger  population,  busi- 
ness and  wealth  ;  each  declares  it  has  the  brighter 
prospects  for  the  future,  and  each  delights  in  decrying 
the  boasted  advantages  of  the  other.  Our  candid  and 
unprejudiced  opinion  is  that  Seattle  is,  by  all  odds,  the 
more  enterprising,  and  therefore  the  more  promising 
of  the  two.  Certainly  it  has  much  more  life  than 
Tacoma,  and  more  public  spirit. 

Tacoma  had  been  so  nursed  and  coddled  by  the 
Northern  Pacific  that,  in  a  measure,  she  lost  her  inde- 
pendence. On  the  other  hand  Seattle  had  to  scratch 
and  fight  for  her  railroad  favors,  and  fought  so  well 
that  she  compelled  the  Northern  Pacific  to  come  off 
its  Tacoma  perch  and  hustle  for  its  share  of  the  trade. 


THE  GREAT  NORTHWEST         271 

After  the  Great  Northern  Railway  opened  in  Seattle, 
the  difference  was  still  more  marked. 

During  our  trip  we  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  trolling 
for  salmon  in  Puget  Sound,  both  at  Seattle  and  Ta- 
coma,  and  with  fairly  good  success.  Each  of  our 
party,  save  one  (and  he  was  the  professional  "lone 
fisherman  "  of  the  party)  caught  one  or  more  salmon. 
While  the  sport  was  very  exciting,  I  confess  I  was 
disappointed  at  the  tame  fight  they  make  when 
hooked.  There  is  a  good  deal  more  fight  and  fun  in 
a  four-pound  bass  than  you  can  get  out  of  a  sixteen- 
pound  salmon.  But  they  are  beauties ;  and  when  you 
have  one  of  them  safely  landed  and  lying  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  his  lack  of  gameness  is  overlooked 
in  your  admiration  of  his  beauty.  Our  fifteen-year- 
old  sportsman  was  not  to  be  outdone  by  the  older 
hands,  for  he  not  only  hooked  and  landed  his  salmon, 
but  he  also  landed  a  trout  with  the  trolling  line  and 
spoon,  a  feat  which  none  of  us  had  ever  before 
heard  of. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  catching  and  canning 
of  the  salmon  is  a  very  large  and  profitable  industry. 
The  number  of  people  dependent  upon  his  iridescent 
highness  for  a  living,  and  the  number  too,  in  all 
civilized  portions  of  the  globe,  who  find  economical 
and  delicious  nourishment  in  his  red  and  juicy  steaks, 
would  be  beyond  the  ken  of  man  to  tell.  Yet  it  is 
safe  to  say  that  no  one  product  of  our  Western 


272  SPORT    INDEED 

Hemisphere  serves  to  advertise  and  popularize  the 
country  more  than  the  canned  salmon.  Millions  of 
tins  are  annually  shipped  east  or  exported  to  Europe 
and  sold  at  such  prices  that  canned  salmon  is  now 
rightly  considered  the  handiest,  the  cheapest,  and  the 
most  nutritious  cooked-food  of  the  century. 


North  Dakota 

A  sportsman's  paradise,  in  truth,  is  this 
Where  nothing  mars  or  meddles  with  his  bliss  ; 
Nimrod  himself  might  envy  such  a  spot, 
Nor  find  his  game  unworthy  of  his  shot. 

— WHITTON. 

DOUBTLESS,  North  Dakota  is  the  "  paradise  of  the 
sportsman,"  but  I  am  not  so  sure  it  contains  nothing 
to  "meddle  with  his  bliss."  Indeed  I  have  strong 
evidence  to  the  contrary  which  I  will  spread  before 
the  reader  a  little  further  on. 

One  of  our  trips  found  us  in  this  paradise  where  we 
wound  up  our  bliss  in  a  blaze  of  magnificent  sport  at 
Dawson.  The  proximity  of  this  place  to  enormous 
wheat-fields  and  innumerable  sloughs,  ponds  and 
lakes,  causes  all  kinds  of  aquatic  game  birds  to  con- 
gregate here  and  in  the  greatest  abundance.  All  the 
duck  tribe — including  the  red  head,  the  mallard,  the 
widgeon,  teal,  black  and  bald  pate — the  Canadian 
gray  goose,  the  beautiful  white  goose,  sandhill  cranes, 
the  plump,  solid-meated  prairie-chicken  and  many 
others  of  the  feathered  game-tribe  are  here  awaiting 
the  pleasure  of  the  sportsmen.  The  "sports"  are 
fully  aware  of  the  delights  that  await  them  and  they 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  but  particularly 
from  St.  Paul  and  Chicago,  with  their  10-bores  and 

273 


274  SPORT   INDEED 

12-bores,  their  retrieving  spaniels  and  their  Irish 
setters. 

The  town  hasn't  over  two  hundred  inhabitants,  yet 
it  boasts  of  a  large  hotel,  which,  in  the  hunting  sea- 
son, reaps  a  bountiful  harvest  from  the  pockets  of  the 
lots  of  men  who  know  how  to  shoot — as  well  as  from 
the  pockets  of  lots  of  them  that  don't. 

The  migratory  wild  fowl  make  their  way  down 
from  the  far  north  in  countless  multitudes,  feeding 
on  the  wheat-fields  and  ponds  in  the  early  morning 
and  late  evening,  and  resting  in  the  centre  of  some 
lake  large  enough  to  keep  them  from  out  the  reach  of 
the  deadly  breech-loader  during  the  day. 

The  flights  of  geese  are  something  wonderful,  and 
it  is  even  more  wonderful  that  so  few  of  them  are 
shot.  But  there  is  no  bird  more  wary  or  suspicious 
than  the  Canada  goose.  They  will  settle  nowhere 
without  first  carefully  looking  the  ground  over.  From 
the  height  at  which  they  fly,  and  in  the  rarified  at- 
mosphere of  the  prairies,  they  can  see  for  miles,  and 
carefully  avoid  any  moving  object,  especially  if  it  be 
that  of  the  human  form. 

We  had  spent  several  days  there  before  we  were 
able  to  discover  the  fields  on  which  they  were  feeding. 
When  we  did  find  the  place  it  was  literally  covered 
with  their  droppings  and  their  breast  feathers.  We 
selected  a  suitable  spot,  dug  two  luxurious  pits,  fixed 
the  edges  up  with  wheat  stubble  as  carefully  as  possi- 


NORTH  DAKOTA  275 

ble,  set  our  decoys  and  jumped  in  to  await  the  coming 
of  the  "honkers."  We  had  been  waiting  only  a  few 
minutes  when  we  saw,  away  off  on  the  prairie,  what 
appeared  to  be  a  man  with  a  dog.  The  man  seemed 
demented,  jumping  and  running  around  and  lying 
down  on  his  back,  then  jumping  up  again  and  repeat- 
ing these  operations  in  the  most  eccentric  manner. 
We  held  a  whispered  consultation  from  pit  to  pit  as 
to  what  was  best  to  be  done.  It  was  folly  to  think 
that  the  geese  would  come  from  the  clouds  for  the 
purpose  of  getting  a  closer  view  of  his  capers.  Oh 
no ;  we  knew  they  were  not  such  geese  as  that ;  so  it 
was  decided  that  I  should  be  the  Ambassador  Plenipo 
with  full  power  to  coax,  drive,  persuade  or  kick  the 
funny  intruder  off  the  prairie.  When  I  reached  him  I 
found,  not  a  man,  but  a  stubby,  barefooted  German 
boy,  whose  feet  were  sore  from  walking  over  the 
sharp-pointed  wheat  stubble.  Hence  his  tears,  I 
thought,  for  he  was  crying.  But  I  was  mistaken. 
His  grief  was  not  of  the  sore-footed  sort.  He  was 
only  a  prairie  specimen  of  "  little  Bo-Peep,"  who  had 
lost  his  sheep  and  didn't  know  where  to  find  'em. 

With  more  ingenuity  than  veracity,  and  a  very 
ragged  attempt  to  handle  his  mother-tongue,  I  told 
him  when  and  where  I  had  seen  them  and  then  ad- 
vised him  to  hurry  away  in  the  direction  which  I 
pointed  out  and  he  would  soon  catch  up  with  their 
tails. 


276  SPORT   INDEED 

"Watching  him  until  well  out  of  sight  and  pluming 
myself  on  my  diplomacy  I  returned  to  the  pit.  I  had 
been  there  but  a  short  time  when  the  screaming  and 
honking  of  the  first  flight  was  heard.  Then  raising 
up  and  peeping  over  the  edges  of  the  pit  I  saw  a  great 
moving  cloud  coming  straight  toward  us.  But,  hor- 
rible to  relate,  there  was  something  else  coming,  and 
something  that  promised  to  "  meddle  with  our  bliss  " 
most  effectually.  An  old,  black  horse  with  a  girl  on 
his  back  wabbled  toward  us  and  when  near  enough 
for  us  to  hear  her  the  girl  stopped  and  yelled  at  the 
top  of  her  voice:  "Where  did  ye  see  my  she-e-e-p ? " 
"  Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,"  I  said,  "  get  out  of  this ! 
Move  on  !  Don't  you  see  you're  knocking  our  sport 
into  smithereens?"  But  she  didn't  or  couldn't  or 
wouldn't  see  anything  of  the  sort,  until  one  of  our 
men  threatened  to  put  a  charge  of  shot  into  the  old 
horse  unless  she  hurried  him  out  of  the  way.  The 
threat  improved  her  ej^esight,  for  at  once  she  com- 
menced whipping  up  old  "Rosinante"  and  in  a  little 
while  both  had  disappeared  in  the  distance. 

And  so  had  the  geese.  The  flock  on  seeing  her  had 
swerved  by  us  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and  nothing 
no\v  could  be  done  but  wait  for  the  next  flight,  which 
in  fifteen  minutes  we  heard  coming  toward  us,  fully 
a  couple  of  miles  off.  We  had  just  time  to  ask  our- 
selves whether  there  was  going  to  be  any  further 
meddling  with  our  bliss  when  a  meddler  showed  up 


NORTH  DAKOTA  277 

to  answer  for  itself.  This  time  it  was  in  the  shape  of 
a  woman,  evidently  Bo-peep's  mother,  accompanied 
by  the  rider  of  the  black  horse.  The  girl  had  ridden 
home,  told  her  mother  we  had  threatened  to  shoot 
her,  and  now  the  old  lady  was  here  with  the  martial 
fires  of  her  fatherland  burning  fiercely  within  her  and 
sending  her  blood  up  to  the  boiling  point.  When  she 
got  within  shouting  distance  she  opened  her  batteries. 
She  would  listen  to  neither  explanation  nor  defense 
and  actually  charged  us  with  having  frightened  her 
sheep  away  by  having  a  retriever  with  us  ;  and  then 
she  vowed  vengeance.  We  entreated,  implored  her  to 
leave  us,  to  go  away  anywhere,  so  the  geese  wouldn't 
see  her ;  that  after  they  had  passed  she  might  come 
back  again  and  we  would  try  to  accommodate  her  with 
all  the  vengeance  she  wanted.  But  no,  there  she 
stood,  working  her  jaws  and  hurling  her  brimstone  at 
us,  and  waving  her  arms  that  flew  around  her  head 
like  the  sails  of  a  windmill. 

The  geese  passed  over  and  away  out  of  range  and 
sight.  Then  her  arms  resumed  their  equilibrium,  and 
with  a  few  more  hot  words  and  a  farewell  shake  of 
her  fist  she  turned  and  slowly  disappeared  over  a 
knoll.  And  we  ?  Well,  we  got  out  of  our  pits  and 
with  spade  and  shovel  silently  filled  them  up  again  ; 
then,  hardly  daring  to  trust  ourselves  to  speak,  we  got 
into  the  wagon  and  drove  to  the  train,  for  this  was 
our  last  hunt  for  the  season. 


The  Wrecker 

A  brave  fellow  !    He  keeps  his  tides  well. 

— TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 

Oisr  a  barren  and  desolate  dune  of  four  miles  long  and 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  broad — laid  down  on  the  old  charts 
as  "Malabar"  Island,  but  now,  for  some  reason,  I 
know  not  what,  called  Monomoy  Island — a  number  of 
professional  wreckers  have  pitched  their  lives  to  ply 
their  risky  and  speculative  calling. 

Wreckers  and  pirates  were  once  linked  together  in 
my  mind,  for  I  thought  the  terms  synonymous.  This, 
however,  as  the  reader  may  surmise,  was  in 

"My  salad  days 
When  I  was  green  in  judgment." 

I  soon  discovered  a  wide  difference.  The  wrecker 
is  a  man  who  will,  and  does,  risk  his  very  life  to  save 
property,  whether  it  be  vessel  or  cargo,  as  well  as  to 
rescue  the  lives  of  those  in  peril.  In  the  pursuit  of 
his  calling  he  shows  heroic  bravery,  great  nerve  and 
the  most  stubborn  hardihood.  Moreover  he  displays 
a  goodly  share  of  wisdom  and  cunning  in  disposing  of 
his  "  flotsam  and  jetsam,"  and  has  other  bits  of  mari- 
time law-knowledge  that  have  been  rubbed  into  him 
by  his  calling,  and  which  crop  out,  when  occasion  de- 

278 


THE  WRECKER  279 

raands,  to  sometimes  outwit  and  confound  the  keenest 
of  the  Cape  Cod  barristers. 

For  a  week  I  had  been  with  four  of  these  rugged 
sea  dogs,  all  of  them  seasoned  with  more  than  half  a 
century  (one  of  them  seventy  years  of  age),  and  yet 
when  the  winds  are  fierce,  the  fogs  dense,  the  snows 
blinding,  they  are  one  and  all  on  the  qui  mve  for  the 
signals  of  distress  from  some  unfortunate  coaster,  or 
steamer,  or  full-rigged  ship,  as  the  case  may  be.  One 
day  I  walked  for  miles  along  the  beach,  threading  my 
way  among  a  cargo  of  southern,  hard-pine  lumber  of 
over  two  hundred  thousand  feet,  which  was  piled  high 
and  dry  on  the  sand  from  the  wreck  of  the  Altamaha, 
a  Scotch  vessel  built  forty-five  years  ago.  This 
lumber  has  been  sold  since  for  $2.75  and  $2.25  per 
thousand  feet,  but  the  purchaser  had  his  hands  full  in 
getting  it  to  the  Boston  market,  and  his  brain  puzzled 
to  solve  the  question,  not  how  much  profit  he  would 
reap,  but  how  much  he  would  lose  on  the  purchase. 

Close  by  the  island  lay  the  wreck  of  Mr.  Vander- 
bilt's  famous  yacht,  Alva,  whose  walnut  fixtures  and 
trimmings  were  coming  daily  to  shore.  It  took  a  con- 
tractor some  time  to  blow  her  to  pieces  and  remove 
the  obstruction,  the  Government  having  awarded  him 
the  contract  for  about  $9,000,  which  was  only  half 
the  amount  asked  by  the  next  lowest  bidder.  As  a 
working  base  for  his  operations  the  contractor  brought 
a  little  steamer  down  from  Brooklyn.  I  saw  the  boat 


280  SPORT   INDEED 

under  full  steam,  and  she  was  so  slow  I  mistook  her 
for  a  stationary  light-ship.  The  contractor  com- 
menced his  work,  and  when  the  tide  was  at  its  lowest 
ebb  he  was  able  to  get  only  about  half  an  hour's  work 
on  the  wreck  each  day,  as  it  then  lay  in  fourteen  feet 
of  water.  It  is  not  likely  that  he  made  a  fortune  out 
of  the  job. 

The  steamer,  Cottage  City,  came  ashore  here,  the 
vessel  and  cargo  being  valued  at  $130,000.  The 
owners  of  the  steamer  sent  the  captain  of  the  life- 
saving  crew,  who  had  given  vital  assistance  in  getting 
her  off  the  shoals,  the  munificent  sum  of  five  dollars 
for  each  man  of  his  crew.  The  captain  promptly  re- 
turned the  donation  with  the  assertion  that  he  himself 
could  easily  afford  to  give  his  crew  that  much  without 
seriously  hurting  his  bank  account.  The  owners  of  a 
small  coaler  that  was  helped  off  by  the  same  crew 
at  once  sent  the  men  $25  each,  which  was  a  distinc- 
tion with  a  difference. 

I  saw  a  vessel  of  500  tons'  burden  that  had  gone  to 
the  bad  on  the  Handkerchief  Shoals,  which  are  a  few 
miles  from  the  Island.  She  was  laden  with  coal.  A 
fleet  of  small  craft  made  daily  visits  to  the  wreck, 
buying  and  laying  in  a  generous  supply  of  coal  for  the 
winter's  fires  of  the  residents  of  Harwich,  Dennis  and 
Chatham.  The  prices  charged  the  boats  varied  from 
one  dollar  per  ton  to  a  lump  price  for  what  the  dory, 
sloop,  cat  boat  or  yacht  could  hold. 


THE  WRECKER  281 

Some  time  since  a  vessel  showed  signals  of  distress 
off  the  Island,  and  in  a  moderate  storm.  The  daring 
wreckers  were  soon  aboard  of  her  and  found  the  cap- 
tain, with  his  wife  and  children,  anxious  to  be  taken 
off.  The  vessel  had  five  and  a  half  feet  of  water  in 
the  hold.  The  captain  was  half  owner,  and  as  she  was 
well  insured  he  did  not  care  what  became  of  her  so 
that  she  was  beached,  and  the  crew,  with  himself  and 
family,  taken  off  in  safety.  The  wreckers,  together 
with  the  life-saving  service,  manned  the  three  pumps, 
got  her  under  way  and  into  the  calm  waters  of  the 
bay,  where  she  was  sold  by  the  underwriters.  The 
wreckers'  share  of  the  treasure  trove  was  about  $40 
per  man. 

Some  years  ago  a  vessel  was  abandoned  here  and 
when  the  wreck  was  broken  up  two  huge  plugs  were 
found  in  her  side  below  the  water  line.  These 
showed  conclusively  that  the  captain,  in  order  to  reap 
the  insurance,  had  deliberately  filled  her  with  water, 
and  then,  finding  she  was  sinking  too  fast,  had  driven 
the  plugs  home  so  as  to  enable  the  crew  to  get  ashore 
without  danger. 

One  of  the  narrators  of  these  tales  of  shipwreck 
waddles  along  with  one  leg  bent  out  from  him  like  a 
drawn  bow.  He  has  had  it  broken  three  times,  and 
now,  while  it  will  bear  his  "  heft,"  as  he  calls  it,  he  can 
carry  but  little  addition  to  it  without  severe  physical 
distress.  The  first  time  it  was  broken  he  was  aboard  a 


282  SPORT   INDEED 

shipwrecked  vessel  that  he  had  agreed  to  stay  by — all 
alone — while  a  tug  towed  her  into  a  haven  of  rest. 
The  wind  was  blowing  a  gale.  The  hawser  being 
drawn  so  tight  as  to  have  little  or  no  "  bight,"  he  was 
fearful  that  the  strain  might  cause  it  to  fray  by  rub- 
bing on  the  sides  of  the  "  eye "  through  which  it 
passed,  and  so  part  it.  "While  he  was  examining  it 
the  iron  plating  of  the  eye  snapped  and  crumbled  like 
an  egg  shell  under  the  strain.  One  of  the  pieces 
struck  him  on  his  leg  below  the  knee,  breaking  it  in 
three  places.  A  consultation  between  the  injured 
man  and  the  captain  resulted  in  the  latter  taking  him 
into  Hyannis,  Mass.,  where  he  was  driven  to  the 
station  in  time  to  take  a  train  for  New  Bedford,  the 
nearest  place,  in  those  days,  to  obtain  efficient  surgical 
aid. 

The  railroad  service  at  that  time  was  primitive,  the 
time  slow,  and  the  track  as  rough  to  the  crippled 
wrecker  as  a  corduroy  road.  The  journey  to  the  cars 
lasted  just  eight  hours,  and  during  the  whole  of  the 
time  he  was  forced  to  hold  his  knee  tightly  with  his 
hands.  The  doctor  who  set  it  complimented  him  on 
his  wonderful  pluck,  kept  him  in  bed  eight  weeks  and 
then  sent  him  home  with — as  he  described  it — the 
"  best  bad  leg  "  he  had  ever  seen.  In  these  days  of 
anesthetics  and  improved  railroad  facilities  such  an 
experience  could  hardly  happen. 

Among  the  Cape's  quaint  customs  I  find  the  old 


THE  WRECKER  283 

Scottish  one  known  as  "  bundling.''  But  this,  like 
other  of  her  quaint  customs,  is  slowly  yielding  to  the 
march  of  the  newspaper,  the  telegraph,  the  telephone, 
and  the  railroad  ;  I  scarcely  believed  that  the  custom 
still  existed  or,  indeed,  ever  had  a  foothold  on  this 
continent,  but  I  soon  found  indubitable  proof  of  it. 
"  Bundling,"  you  must  know,  is  a  method  of  courtship 
based  on  motives  of  economy,  (the  saving  of  light  and 
fire).  It  is  still  practiced  in  Scotland  though  grad- 
ually dying  out  there,  as  increasing  prosperity  affords 
broader  scope  for  comfort  and  less  necessity  for 
economy. 


Brant  Shooting 

This  sport,  well  earned,  shall  be  chronicled. 

— MIDSUMMEK  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

So  let  me  chronicle  a  week's  sport — "  well  carried," 
I  think — on  Monomoy  Island.  A  week  of  atmos- 
pheric somersaults  ;  a  week  of  rain,  snow,  hail,  sleet, 
thunder  with  vivid  lightning,  and  extreme  cold. 
And  yet  in  spite  of  the  exposure — twice  a  day  wading 
a  thousand  yards  to  our  shooting  boxes,  guided  by 
stakes  a  hundred  yards  apart,  while  we  couldn't  see 
from  one  to  the  other  through  the  fog  or  sleeting 
snow  ;  then  sitting  in  the  box,  at  times  over  our  knees 
in  water,  the  waves  dashing  over  us  and  slapping 
down  the  back  of  our  neck,  and  the  thermometer 
hugging  the  freezing  point, — I  say,  despite  all  this,  it 
was  a  week  that  is  fondly  fastened  in  my  memory  ;  a 
week  full  of  adventure  and  novelty  ;  and  a  week  dur- 
ing which  we  breathed  any  quantity  of  ozone,  and 
had  for  our  sustenance  plenty  of  superbly  prepared 
sea-food  together  with  a  superbly  prepared  appetite 
and  digestion  to  handle  it.  It  was  also  a  week  of 
total  blank  so  far  as  any  news  of  the  outside  world 
was  concerned.  No  letters,  no  newspapers,  no  tele- 
grams to  side-track  our  attention  or  ruffle  our  tran- 
quillity. For  once  business  and  the  shop  might  go  to 

284 


BRANT  SHOOTING  285 

the— well,  "Hades."  Song,  story  and  jest  held  high 
carnival.  Dull  care  was  banished  and  his  woeful  face 
never  permitted  to  enter  the  portals  of  the  old  club- 
house so  long  as  we  held  possession.  For  one  week 
at  least  he  was  a  stranger,  a  melancholy  tramp,  job- 
less and  with  no  abiding-place  on  the  sands  of  Mono- 
moy  Island  or  the  waters  thereof. 

"  Hello !  there's  branters,"  said  a  native  of  Cape 
Cod,  as  we  left  the  little,  mixed  freight  and  passenger 
train  at  Chatham,  Mass.,  on  an  early  April  morning. 
"  There  be  nine  on  'em,"  he  said,  counting  our  noses 
by  mental  arithmetic  ;  and  he  was  right.  There  were 
nine  of  us,  with  guns,  woolen  clothes,  rubber  clothes, 
canvas  clothes,  oil  clothes,  leather  boots,  rubber  boots, 
rubber  hats,  crates  of  onions,  boxes  of  loaded  shells, 
cases  of  canned  goods,  together  with  mysterious  look- 
ing "  stun  jugs  "  and  "  sich." 

Nine  of  us — from  Boston,  Worcester,  Quincy,  Dor- 
chester, Florida  and  Philadelphia — all  drawn  together 
by  the  Freemasonry  of  sport,  and  the  shibboleth  was 
"  Brant."  The  day  before  I  left  home  I  told  a  promi- 
nent merchant  that  I  was  going  shooting  for  a  short 
time.  He  asked  what  I  expected  to  shoot  at  this  time 
o'  year.  "  Brant,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  when  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  shoot 
squirrels  with  a  rifle,  and  became  so  expert  that  I 
could  shoot  them  back  of  the  head  every  time." 

How  far  back  he  didn't  say. 


286  SPORT   INDEED 

"Well,"  I  answered,  "brant  are  much  harder  to 
shoot  than  squirrels,  for  the}7  run  faster  than  rabbits 
and  are  much  bigger."  "  Well,  I  declare,"  he  said, 
and  then  relapsed  into  silence,  perfectly  satisfied  that 
he  knew  all  about  it. 

For  the  information  of  this  Philadelphia  merchant 
I  will  say  that  the  brant  is  smaller  than  a  goose,  and 
at  this  spring-time  of  year  is  on  his  way  northward, 
merrily  helped  along  by  hundreds  of  guns  belching 
forth  No.  3  to  No.  1  shot  from  all  sorts  of  innocent 
looking  shooting  boxes  surrounded  with  decoys,  both 
artificial  and  natural. 

It  is  a  bird  of  beautiful  plumage  and  graceful  form  ; 
plump  and  fat,  swift  of  wing  and  wary  and  suspicious 
of  anything  and  everything  that  bears  the  slightest 
semblance  of  danger.  There  is  also  a  mystery  sur- 
rounding it  which  has  bothered  the  scientists  for  ages 
and  is  still  bothering  them ;  namely,  the  whereabouts 
of  its  breeding  habitat.  The  late  Professor  Spencer 
Baird  worried  himself  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other 
savant  over  this  undiscovered  territory.  No  living 
man,  it  is  said,  has  ever  seen  the  nest  or  egg  of  the 
brant,  and  no  matter  how  far  explorers  have  forced 
their  way  northward  the  brant  has  always  been 
seen  winging  on  still  further  north.  Therefore  the 
Monomoy  guides — some  of  whom  have  grown  gray  in 
the  pursuit  of  "  brantin' " — claim  that  there  surely 
must  be  an  open  Polar  Sea  where  the  weather  is 


BRANT  SHOOTING  287 

warm  enough  to  hatch  out  their  eggs,  and  where  food 
is  plenty  and  nutritious,  for  they  come  down  in  the 
fall  of  the  year  fat  and  sleek  as  a  pullet.  The  young 
birds  come  south  strong  of  wing  and  as  cunning  as — 
well,  I  might  say  of  them  what  Buckingham  said  of 
the  little  Duke  of  York  :  "  So  cunning  and  so  young 
is  wonderful ! " 

Monomoy  Island  lies  off  the  mainland  in  the  ocean 
a  few  miles  from  Chatham,  Mass.  Between  the  island 
and  the  mainland  the  succulent  sea-grass  (the  favorite 
food  of  the  brant)  waves  gracefully  to  the  gentle 
swell  of  the  tide  or  the  fierce  northeaster — which, 
by  the  way,  has  been  blowing  a  gale  since  we  arrived. 

The  stretch  of  sheltered  water  here  is  large  enough 
to  leave  the  birds  plenty  of  room  to  move  around  in 
swinging  columns  without  coming  within  range  of  the 
sink  boxes ;  and  it  is  only  when  the  tides  and  winds 
are  favorable  that  the  birds  are  brought  within  the 
line  of  danger.  The  Monomoy  Branting  Club — the 
only  club  of  the  sort,  I  believe,  on  the  continent — has 
a  couple  of  comfortable  houses  built  on  a  bluff  or 
dune.  It  also  has  artistically  constructed  sink  boxes, 
placed  at  the  most  favorable  points,  and  a  large  stock 
of  wooden  decoys.  Live  brant  with  clipped  wings 
help  to  lure  their  kindred  into  danger,  and  with  as 
much  apparent  satisfaction  and  enjoyment  as  the  set- 
ter dog  takes  in  flushing  grouse  or  quail.  The  club  is 
formed  mostly  of  Eastern  gentlemen  and  all  of 


288  SPORT   INDEED 

course,  are  enthusiasts  in  sporting.  Their  number  is 
limited  to  twenty,  each  member  being  entitled  to  in- 
vite one  guest.  Four  members  only  are  permitted  to 
be  here  at  one  time,  and,  as  the  shooting  lasts  five 
weeks,  each  set  with  their  guests  have  one  week's  fun. 
At  dinner  in  the  little  hotel  at  Chatham  we  met  the 
party,  who  had  preceded  us,  returning  to  the  "  Hub  " 
with  seventy-four  brant,  bronzed  cheeks  and  ravenous 
appetites. 

Four  guides  are  engaged  by  the  club.  They  are 
men  who  thoroughly  know  the  habits  of  the  birds, 
understand  the  tides  and  currents  and  handling  of 
boats,  and  also  know  how  to  shoot. 

One  of  them  has  been  continuously  at  the  business 
of  "  guidin' "  for  thirty-one  years.  During  all  that 
time  he  missed  only  two  days — one  when  he  attended 
a  funeral  and  the  other  when  he  had  to  go  to  court. 
The  care  of  family,  the  tender  offices  of  friends,  the 
seductions  of  courtship,  the  excitement  of  the  play  or 
the  circus — none  of  these  has  any  allurement  for  the 
weather-beaten,  blue-eyed  and  kindly  men  when  once 
the  branting  season  opens.  During  the  rest  of  the 
year  they  earn  a  precarious  living  by  fishing  and 
wrecking.  They  watch  the  shifting  sands,  the  gloomy 
fogs  and  the  blinding  snowstorms  with  earnest  so- 
licitude, for  this  is  truly  a  dangerous  place  for 
the  unwary  mariner.  During  a  recent  winter  the 
fine  steamer  Cottage  City,  running  from  Portland, 


BRANT  SHOOTING  289 

Me.,  to  New  York,  struck  in  about  fourteen  feet  of 
water.  She  held  fast  until  thousands  of  boxes  of 
merchandise  were  thrown  overboard.  Then  with  the 
aid  of  a  tug  and  a  high  tide  she  was  gotten  off,  and 
without  rudder  or  stern-post  was  towed  to  New  York. 

Our  friends,  the  guides,  lamented  the  fact  that  most 
of  the  jettisoned  cargo  floated  out  to  sea ;  but  the  re- 
mainder, which  was  weighty  enough  to  sink,  they 
grappled  in  fifteen  feet  of  water,  bringing  their  find 
to  the  surface  and  shore.  Of  course,  some  "  odd  "  lots 
were  brought  up.  Among  them  was  a  case  of  2,500 
little  boxes  of  split,  leaden  bullets  for  fish-line  sinkers 
and  several  cases  of  white,  flinty  rock,  consigned  to  a 
Trenton  pottery.  The  wreckers  were  much  out  of 
heart  about  the  latter  because  of  their  weight  and 
also  because  no  one  could  tell  them  whether  they  were 
worth  the  freight  to  Trenton  or  not. 

These  wreckers,  branters  and  fishermen  live  a  happy 
life  and  are  as  full  of  content  as  an  egg  is  of  meat. 
No  fluctuations  in  stocks ;  no  frills  of  fashion ; — in 
fact  nothing  under  the  sun  or  over  it  can  knock  the 
bottom  out  of  a  branter's  content,  give  him  but  the 
favoring  tide  and  howling  gust  that  bring  the  brant 
in  plenty,  to  his  decoys.  It  is  this  hope  that  warms 
his  imagination  and  cheers  his  heart,  for  its  realization 
is  apt  to  fill  his  pocket  with  a  goodly  share  of  the  coin 
of  the  realm. 


The  Quaint  Cape-Codders 

Ah,  what  a  life  were  this  ! 

—HENRY  VI. 

ON  my  trip  to  Cape  Cod,  via  the  Old  Colony  Rail- 
road, I  saw,  on  every  hand,  signs  of  the  stern  difficul- 
ties that  beset  the  Cape-Codder  and  make  his  path 
through  life  a  rough,  as  well  as  an  unprofitable  one  to 
travel.  His  comforts  are  few  and  hard  to  get.  He 
has  to  be  satisfied  with  rude  shelter  and  ruder  fare, 
and  to  secure  even  these  he  is  often  compelled  to  wade 
his  "  bog  of  Adversity."  Yet  he  doesn't  lose  heart,  but 
shoulders  his  bundle  of  troubles  philosophically  and 
plods  along  his  miry  way.  Now,  if  Hamlet  had  but 
owned  a  little  of  this  Cape  Cod  philosophy  he  would 
never  have  sprung  his  crazy  question  on  the  world 
whether  it  is  better  "  to  be,  or  not  to  be."  Nor  would 
the  "  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune  "  have  bothered  him 
gravely.  He  would  have  paid  as  little  heed  to  their 
whiz  about  his  ears  as  a  tough-skinned  native  pays  to 
the  buzz  of  a  Jersey  mosquito.  The  "  sea  of  troubles  " 
that  swamped  the  Dane  and  upset  the  craft  of  his 
annotators  were  trifles  compared  with  those  that  buffet 
the  Cape-Codder  in  his  struggle  for  existence  on  the 
barren  dunes  and  pine  forests  and  cranberry  bogs  that 
make  up  the  topography  of  his  habitat.  We  can  read- 
ily read  in  his  face  the  story  of  poor  soil  and  scanty 
crops  and  battles  with  the  winds  and  storms  he  can't 

290 


THE  QUAINT  CAPE-CODDERS     291 

escape  in  his  chase  after  the  finny  tribe,  or  in  his  other 
laborious  pursuit  of  cranberry  raising. 

Old  Colony  Railroad  stock  is  partly  held  by  the  na- 
tives of  Cape  Cod  who  look  upon  it  as  the  great  rail- 
road of  the  world.  It  once  had  a  custom  of  giving  to 
its  Cape  stockholders  a  free  ticket  to  Boston  and  re- 
turn, on  the  occasion  of  the  road's  annual  meeting  in 
that  city.  A  man  owning  one  share  had  the  privilege 
in  common  with  his  more  wealthy  neighbor;  there- 
fore, if  a  Cape-Codder  had  five  shares  he  arranged  to 
have  them  entered  singly  for  each  member  of  his  fam- 
ily, so  all  of  them  might  make  the  annual  tour  to  the 
"  Hub."  As  time  went  on  and  the  control  of  the  road 
changed,  this  free  excursion  was  abolished,  and  many 
and  loud  were  the  grumbles  of  discontent  among  the 
people  at  its  abolition. 

I  have  more  than  hinted  that  the  average  Cape- 
Codder  is  not  in  that  comfortable  condition  which  the 
world  calls  "  well-fixed."  In  fact,  he  is  very  much  the 
other  way — chronically  hard-up.  His  church-mouse 
poverty  has  been  the  theme  of  many  a  quip,  and  the 
following  one  will  prove  that  while  the  soil  of  Cape 
Cod  may  be  too  poor  to  grow  a  mullein  stalk,  it  is  rich 
enough  to  raise  a  poet : 

"  There  was  a  young  lady  of  Truro 
Who  sighed  for  a  'hogany  bureau 
But  her  pa  said  '  Great  God  ! 
All  the  men  in  Cape  Cod 
Couldn't  pay  for  a  'hogany  bureau  ! '  " 


292  SPORT   INDEED 

But  "  to  return  to  my  mutton,"  which  is  brant, — not 
mahogany  bureaus,  I  will  now  describe  a  sight  that 
will  linger  in  my  recollection  as  an  exhibition  of  the 
wonderful  instinct  and  weather-wisdom  of  migrating 
sea-fowl. 

For  days  strong  nor'easters  had  blown  fiercely,  ac- 
companied by  snow,  sleet,  rain,  thunder  and  lightning ; 
and  through  these  the  brant  could  have  made  but  lit- 
tle headway  had  they  tried  to  proceed  on  their  jour- 
ney northwards.  But  they  didn't  try.  They  knew 
better  than  Old  Probs  what  the  weather  was  going  to 
be.  There  came  a  lull  in  the  storm,  a  fog  set  in,  and 
the  brant  congregated  in  long  columns,  flapping  their 
wings  and  making  the  most  deafening  outcries.  Our 
guides  said  :  "  The  birds  are  preparing  to  start.  The 
weather  will  settle  by  morning."  But,  after  the  fog, 
came  a  furious  gale  with  vivid  flashes  of  lightning, 
loud  peals  of  thunder  and  a  down-pouring  of  rain. 
This  condition  of  affairs  lasted  all  night,  and  for  once 
our  confidence  in  the  brant's  wisdom  and  judgment 
was  shaken.  It  need  not  have  been.  The  next  morn- 
ing the  sun  arose  bright  and  warm,  with  a  southwest 
wind,  and  away  went  the  brant,  flying  northward. 
First  a  series  of  swooping  circles,  rising  higher  and 
higher  in  the  air,  a  pause,  and  then  off  they  go  by  the 
thousands,  in  flocks  of  from  three  to  five  hundred,  all 
carefully  marshalled  and  efficiently  led  by  some  old 
gander  who  will  allow  his  followers  no  rest  for  the 


THE  QUAINT  CAPE-CODDERS     293 

soles  of  their  feet  until  the  Bay  of  Fundy  or  Prince 
Edward's  Island  is  reached. 

Then  we  saw  other  flocks,  equally  large,  come  from 
the  south  and  stop  to  rest  and  feed  before  proceeding 
on  their  journey  to  their  mysterious  and  unknown 
resting-place. 

As  the  one  aim,  the  one  conversation  of  the  whole 
nine  of  us  was  the  pursuit  of  brant,  we  became  sat- 
urated with  the  theme.  We  thought  brant,  dreamt 
brant,  mused  brant,  discussed  brant,  and,  perhaps,  if 
we  swore  at  all,  would  have  sworn  brant.  I  have 
known  a  poker-player  with  three  aces  in  his  hand — 
and  possibly  another  up  his  sleeve — to  suddenly  throw 
down  his  cards  and  exclaim :  "  I  want  to  shoot  a 
brant !  "  showing  very  plainly  that  poker  was  not  the 
kind  of  game  he  was  after.  I  have  watched  this  same 
chap  lying  upon  his  bed  and  tossing  wearily  from  side 
to  side,  while  between  his  snores  would  come  the  whis- 
pered wish :  "  I  want  to  shoot  a  brant ! "  And  he 
would  keep  up  these  whispers  until  he  was  in  the  far- 
off  land  of  dreams  and  probably  banging  away  at  the 
birds  to  his  heart's  content. 

But  what  about  our  Cape  Cod  luck  ?  Did  we  bag 
many  of  the  brant  ?  Yes,  we  all  got  our  share.  Even 
our  poker-player  bagged  enough  of  them  to  fill  the 
measure  of  his  dreams  and  satisfy  the  demands  of  his 
heated  imagination. 

The  cooking  at  the  clubhouse  on  Monomoy  Island 


294  SPORT   INDEED 

deserves  a  warm  word  of  tribute.  There  are  two  chefs 
who  revel  in  producing  dishes  peculiar  to  the  Cape 
and  Island — dishes  which  are  at  once  enticing,  nour- 
ishing and  appetizing.  Some  of  their  productions 
defy  my  power  to  describe;  but  I  will  long  hold 
recollections  of  their  huge  bowl  of  delicious,  stewed 
scallops,  their  quahog  stews,  quahog  pies,  quahog  frit- 
ters, clam  chowders,  steamed  clams,  boiled  clams, 
fresh  boiled  cod,  fish  balls  with  the  accompaniment  of 
thin  slices  of  raw  Bermuda  onions,  fresh  cucumbers, 
the  finest  of  butter,  Java  coffee,  and  water  that  would 
make  any  city-bred  man's  heart  thump  with  joy  if  he 
ever  got  a  taste  of  it.  Did  our  gastronomic  quarters 
have  any  difficulty  in  accommodating  such  a  crowd  of 
delicacies  ?  No,  not  a  bit.  Thanks  to  a  ravenous  ap- 
petite and  a  good  digestion  to  wait  on  it,  we  found  a 
stomach  for  them  all.  Nor  did  they  stir  up  any  mid- 
night regrets.  Think  of  that,  "  O  ye  of  little  faith  " 
in  the  virtue  of  outdoor  sports.  Think  of  it,  nor  won- 
der that  when  we  turned  into  our  bunks  sweet  sleep 
at  once  embraced  us — sleep  without  bromides  or  hop- 
pillows  or  any  other  soporific  spur — sleep  that  bore  us 
through  the  roar  of  the  surf  and  the  rattle  of  Jove's 
artillery,  until  Alonzo,  the  guide,  awoke  us  with  a 
knock  and  his  customary  warning :  "  Gentlemen,  gen- 
tlemen, the  tide's  aflowin'  in ! " 


A  Wary  Bird 

We'll  make  a  solemn  wager  on  your  cunnings. 

— HAMLET. 

A  MAN,  to  be  successful  in  brant-shooting,  must  be  a, 
sportsman  of  the  most  enthusiastic  type  and  a  fair  shot. 
Moreover,  he  must  possess  a  good  constitution,  plenty 
of  patience,  and  plenty  of  ability  to  defy  cold,  wet  and 
exposure.  He  must  expect  many  disappointments  and 
a  great  deal  of  waiting,  for  the  birds  are  so  wary  and 
so  seldom  deceived  it  is  rarely  he  will  find  them  within 
the  range  of  his  heaviest  charges  of  powder  and  shot. 
When  the  chance  of  a  shot  is  obtained  and  he  downs 
his  bird  the  excitement  is  over  quick  as  a  flash  and  he 
wonders  how  it  all  happened.  Let  me  describe  how  it 
is  done. 

During  the  early  spring  the  guides  have  sunk  boxes 
large  enough  to  hold  three  men.  The  boxes  are  placed 
sometimes  out  on  the  bay  in  shallow  water,  with  hun- 
dreds of  wheelbarrowfuls  of  sand  piled  around  them 
at  low  tide,  the  sand  being  covered  and  neatly  fas- 
tened down  with  a  sail  cloth,  so  that  the  rushing  tides 
cannot  carry  it  away.  This  is  to  represent  a  sand 
bar.  The  other  plan  is  to  fix  the  boxes  on  some  jut- 
ting point  of  land  in  the  bay,  always  using  plenty  of 
sand,  behind  which  the  gunners  are  to  sit  with  bowed 

295 


296  SPORT   INDEED 

heads,  but  with  watchful  eyes  and  ears.  Out  in  front 
of  these  boxes  wooden  decoys  are  fixed  on  a  frame- 
work like  the  letter  Y,  five  on  each  frame,  all  strung 
together,  so  that  they  turn  with  the  tide  and  wind 
and  look  natural  enough  to  deceive  the  oldest  gander 
in  the  flock. 

Then  two  gunners  with  the  guide  wend  their  way 
to  the  boxes  when  the  tide  is  flowing  in,  the  gunners 
encased  in  hip  rubber  boots,  two  or  three  pairs  of 
stockings,  a  heavy  suit  (flannel  shirts,  sweaters,  over- 
coats), and  lastly  an  oilskin  suit,  if  the  weather  be 
rough.  The  gunners  get  in  the  boxes,  arrange  their 
pipes  and  shells  and  bail  the  water  out,  while  the  guide 
takes  from  a  basket  a  pair  of  clipped- wing  brant  which 
he  deftly  harnesses  together  like  a  span  of  horses. 
The  yokes,  made  with  leather  thongs,  are  put  on  their 
feet,  not  their  necks.  They  are  allowed  to  swim  or 
wade  out  quite  a  distance,  being  secured  by  a  cord 
which  is  kept  on  a  reel  in  the  sink  box. 

The  particular  part  these  birds  are  to  perform 
(when  the  brant  are  flying  or  swimming  anywhere 
near)  is  to  flap  their  wings  and  "  honk "  their  wild 
relatives  into  danger  among  the  decoys ;  and  it  is 
amazing  how  intelligently  they  do  their  work ;  how 
they  get  away  out  of  range  when  the  wild  birds  are 
being  covered  by  the  deadly  breech-loader,  and  how 
they  chatter  to  themselves  with  seeming  satisfaction 
when  the  battery  has  been  unmasked  and  the  fallen 


A  WARY  BIRD  297 

birds  retrieved.  When  all  is  ready  the  guide  gets 
into  the  box,  and  then  the  trials  of  endurance,  patience 
and  expectancy  begin.  There  is  no  lack  of  birds  in 
sight — thousands  of  them — and  their  cries  at  times 
are  deafening,  but  they  keep  provokingly  far  enough 
off  to  make  you  feel  as  if  your  head  must  never  again 
be  raised.  You  soon  get  cramped  and  numbed  with 
the  cold  wind ;  and  maybe  have  rain,  or  snow  or  sleet 
blowing  and  pelting  in  your  face.  But  you  must  not 
get  up. 

Once  I  sat  in  a  box  for  five  hours,  and  during  the 
whole  of  that  time  the  rain,  snow  and  sleet  were  driv- 
ing into  my  teeth,  while  to  vary  the  monotony  the 
water  from  the  high  tide  would  now  and  then  wash 
over  my  back  and  down  my  neck.  Yet  I  waited 
paitently  for  my  reward  and  got  it.  Up  like  a  flash 
and  within  range  came  five  birds,  flying  down  the 
wind  with  the  speed  of  a  carrier  pigeon.  We  got  a 
shot  apiece ;  three  were  left  behind,  while  the  other 
two  were  soon  miles  away.  Our  long  wait  and  ex- 
posure were  forgotten.  We  said :  "  How  did  those 
two  birds  get  away  ?  "  "  They  must  be  crippled  !  " 
"Watch  them!"  "They're  going  down!"  "  No, 
they're  not ! "  "  Yes,  they  are  !  "  and  so  on,  but  the 
birds  were  not  ours,  that  was  sure. 

And  thus  you  never  know  when  out  of  the  haze,  or 
the  clear  sky,  like  a  meteor  from  behind  }TOU,  or 
straight  on,  a  bunch  of  birds  may  come  that  have 


298  SPORT   INDEED 

been  deceived  by  your  pair  of  live  honkers  and  your 
wooden  shams.  Or  again,  a  flock  may  be  feeding  and 
unconsciously  drifting  with  the  inflowing  tide  towards 
your  box,  occasionally  giving  a  quick,  suspicious  look, 
swimming  back  a  little,  then  onward  again.  But  you, 
too,  must  be  wary.  To  raise  the  tip  of  your  hat  above 
the  brim  of  the  sand-bank  or  to  get  up  to  stretch 
yourself  is  tantamount  to  a  speedy  departure  of  the 
"  mysterious  bird  of  the  North."  Therefore  it  is  the 
man  who  can  stand  this  sort  of  work  the  best  who  is 
likely  to  make  the  biggest  bag.  A  great  deal  depends 
upon  the  wind  as  well,  for  if  the  currents  of  air 
should  be  blowing  off  shore  there  is  not  much  chance 
of  successful  shooting,  as  the  wind  constantly  drifts 
them  away  from  the  decoys,  while  they  are  feeding ; 
and  if  any  should  be  shot  and  drop  down  at  long 
range  they  are  apt  to  get  out  of  reach  before  they  can 
be  retrieved. 

We  were  seven  days  on  Monomoy  Island  and  had  a 
fierce  nor'easter  blowing  nearly  the  whole  time. 
What  success  we  were  blessed  with  (thirty-six  brant), 
was  due  solely  to  lots  of  patience  and  perseverance 
against  hard  conditions. 

But  the  sport  compels  you  to  be  out  in  the  open  air, 
to  inhale  the  ozone  and  the  ocean  breezes — those  twin 
benefactors  that  bring  to  the  hunter  his  proverbial 
appetite.  And,  oh  that  appetite !  You  have  it  and  a 
digestion  to  wait  on  it  that  might  tackle  a  peck  of 


A  WARY  BIRD  299 

dried  apples  without  getting  out  of  order.  There  is 
another  thing  you  have  which  is  not  to  be  sneezed  at 
— the  gratification  of  knowing  that  with  your  trusty 
gun,  your  hidden  retreats,  your  enticing  decoys  and 
your  unwearied  patience  you  are  more  than  a  match 
for  this  the  grandest  and  most  wary  of  all  game 
birds. 

"  Nor  on  the  surges  of  the  boundless  air, 
Though  borne  triumphant,  are  they  safe;  the  gun, 
Glanc'd  just,  and  sudden,  from  the  gunner's  eye, 
O'ertakes  their  sounding  pinions;  and  again, 
Immediate  brings  them  from  the  towering  wing 
Dead  to  the  ground ;  or  drives  them  wide  dispersed, 
Wounded  and  wheeling  various,  down  the  wind." 

This  season  the  brant  arrived  in  great  numbers  at 
Monomoy  as  early  as  February,  but  finding  their 
natural  food — the  eel  grass — sealed  in  ice,  they  were 
forced  to  wing  their  way  backward,  after  many  at- 
tempts to  get  at  their  feeding  grounds ;  the  cold 
weather  thus  compelled  them  to  make  trips  of  hun- 
dreds of  miles  to  the  southward  before  they  could 
obtain  their  sustenance.  But  they  are  grand  "  flyers  " 
and  a  few  hundred  miles  of  flight  is  only  a  morning's 
"constitutional"  for  them,  and  they  don't  seem  to 
worry  the  least  bit  about  it.  As  soon  as  the  ice 
melted  and  their  favorite  eel  grass  was  exposed  to 
view,  then  they  arrived  in  countless  numbers.  Some 
say  that  between  the  fifth  and  tenth  of  April  more 
birds  were  at  the  Island  than  ever  were  seen  before 


300  SPORT    INDEED 

at  one  time.  But  the  wrecks  and  wreckage  there 
drew  all  manner  of  sailboats  to  the  scene  to  get  coal 
and  lumber,  and  thus  the  birds  were  continually  dis- 
turbed in  their  feeding.  They  were  occasionally  fired 
on  at  long  range  from  these  sailboats  and  this  har- 
assed and  frightened  them,  keeping  them  for  hours  on 
the  move.  This,  together  with  unfavorable  winds  and 
storms,  reduced  the  total  bag  for  the  season  to  one 
hundred  and  ninety-seven  brant.  Such  was  the  result 
of  the  work  of  seven  weekly  parties,  aggregating 
fifty-seven  sportsmen,  with  an  average  of  eight  to 
each  party,  and,  as  our  party  bagged  thirty-six,  we 
had  no  reason  to  complain.  Of  the  one  hundred  and 
ninety-seven  killed,  one  hundred  and  three  were  young 
birds  and  ninety-four  were  old  ones.  This  proportion 
of  young  birds  ought  to  have  made  the  shooting 
better,  as  the  latter  (in  the  language  of  the  president 
of  the  club),  "  are  less  wary,  more  social  and  more 
easily  decoyed,  and  will  carry  off  less  lead  than  the 
tough,  old  birds ;  and  then  it  often  happens  that  the 
elders  are  led  by  unsuspicious  youth  into  places  of 
danger  where  it  would  be  impossible  to  coax  them 
when  separated ;  therefore  the  presence  of  so  many 
juvenile  visitors  is  always  a  joy  to  the  heart  of  the 
sportsman." 


Quail  Shooting  in  North  Carolina 

Otie  that  loves  quails. 

— TROILUS  AND  CEESSIDA. 

I 
IN  a  lone  car,  hitched  to  the  end  of  a  freight  train, 

sat  two  individuals — a  fellow-sport  and  myself — tak- 
ing a  trip  through  the  "  land  of  moonshine  and  fried 
things,"  in  search  of  quail. 

The  train  halted  at  a  small  station,  some  twenty- 
five  miles  from  Greensboro,  where  a  wagon  should 
have  been  in  waiting  to  carry  us  on  our  way  to  a 
tobacco  plantation  seven  miles  distant. 

It  was  "  the  top  o'  the  morning  "  when  we  stepped 
out  on  the  platform,  and  a  very  frosty  "  top  "  it  was, 
too.  No  vehicle  was  there  to  meet  us,  nor  was  there 
any  in  sight,  or  out  of  it,  that  could  be  hired  for  love 
or  money.  Our  only  resource,  therefore,  was  to  stand 
and  shiver  and  "  wait  for  the  wagon."  An  hour 
passed  and  we  began  to  think  it  had  no  intention  of 
coming;  but  just  as  our  last  drop  of  patience  was 
about  oozing  out,  the  wagon  arrived  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  mules,  and  driven  by  an  old  man  whom  we  soon 
found  to  be  a  fellow  of  infinite  gab,  if  not  "of  most 
excellent  fancy."  He  had  two  companions  seated  be- 
hind him,  one  of  them  being  his  son — an  overgrown 
hobbledehoy  of  fourteen — whose  name  was  Tom. 

301 


302  SPORT    INDEED 

Now,  there  was  something  remarkable  in  the  top 
part  of  Tom's  make-up.  His  face  was  spattered  with 
freckles  of  various  sizes,  and  illuminated  by  a  grin 
that  backed  the  corners  of  his  mouth  against  his  ears 
and  threatened  to  push  them  off  their  base.  He  had 
a  squint  in  one  of  his  eyes,  and  both  of  them  were 
coated  with  a  milky  film,  which  gave  his  mug  the  ex- 
pression of  a  boiled  mackerel.  Over  all  was  a  wiry 
mop  of  red  hair,  tumbled  and  tangled  together  in  a 
manner  that  would  trouble  a  comb  to  travel  through. 

His  star  feature,  however,  was  his  grin,  and  he  never 
allowed  it  to  slack  up.  If  it  showed  a  tendency  that 
way,  he  would  spur  it  on  by  poking  fun  at  the  "  old 
man,"  as  he  called  him,  pushing  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
tickling  his  ears,  and  by  divers  other  pranks  of  which 
he  seemed  to  have  an  inexhaustible  supply. 

The  other  lad  was  only  an  apprentice  on  the  farm 
and  bound  until  he  came  of  age.  His  clothes  Avere 
shabby  and  hung  about  him  in  a  way  that  suggested 
his  inside  to  be  as  shabbily  cared  for  as  his  outside. 

Our  journey  of  seven  miles  consumed  two  hours, 
and  during  all  that  time  the  "  old  man's "  jaw  never 
faltered.  He  gave  us  a  complete  history  of  his  life, 
domestic  and  otherwise.  He  boasted  of  being  the  fa- 
ther of  eight  living  children  and  one  dead  one ;  while 
his  occupations  were  almost  as  numerous  as  his  chil- 
dren. He  was  a  helper,  a  driver,  a  ploughman,  a 
tobacco  curer,  and  the  general  factotum  of  the  planta- 


QUAIL  SHOOTING  303 

tion,  which  consisted  of  six  hundred  acres  of  land. 
For  all  this  work  he  received  the  princely  sum  of  one 
hundred  dollars  per  annum.  Then  he  entertained  us 
with  many  tales  of  the  moonshiners — those  defiant 
breakers  of  the  revenue  law  who  ply  their  secret  and 
perilous  calling  in  these  regions.  Two  days  before 
our  visit  one  of  the  best-known  of  the  moonshine 
fraternity  had  been  shot  in  cold  blood  by  a  man  who 
had  informed  upon  him  and  who  alleged  that  in 
consequence  of  his  act  his  life  was  not  safe,  and  there- 
fore he  killed  him.  The  murderer  was  even  then  out 
of  jail  on  $500  bail,  and  our  driver  predicted  that  if 
he  lived  to  be  tried  he  would  surely  get  off ;  but  he 
"  allowed  it  war  more  likely  he  would  be  killed  before 
the  trial  was  reached." 

Then  the  old  fellow  told  us  the  story  of  a  fight  that 
had  taken  place  the  previous  evening,  and  which 
ended  in  the  possible  death  of  one  of  the  participants. 
"  You  see,"  said  the  old  man,  "  one  of  the  fighters  is  a 
chap  known  around  these  yer  diggings  as  '  Red 
Angel.'  He's  a  tough  cuss  to  tackle,  but  when  he 
got  through  with  that  scrimmage,  I  tell  you,  stranger, 
though  there  was  plenty  of  red  about  him,  he  didn't 
look  much  like  an  angel.  Why,  sir,  he  was  so 
battered,  and  hammered,  and  cut  and  slashed  that  his 
best  friends  didn't  know  him.  I  never  did  think 
much  of  that  fellow,  no  how,  and  I'm  darned  glad 
that  for  once  he  got  a  bellyful  of  his  own  med'cine." 


304  SPORT   INDEED 

On  the  way  to  the  plantation  Ave  had  our  first 
experience  in  plucking  and  eating  some  rich,  ripe  per- 
simmons that  hung  upon  their  trees  at  the  roadside. 
A  thoroughly  ripe  and  frost-nipped  persimmon  is  al- 
ways pleasing  to  my  palate,  but  these  were  par- 
ticularly so  and  met  with  all  the  appreciation  they 
deserved. 

The  portion  of  the  country  through  which  we  rode 
is  decidedly  hilly,  with  deep  ravines  bordered  with  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  briars,  blackberry  bushes, 
poison  ivy  and  wild  grape-vines.  These  afford  rich 
cover  for  rabbits,  while  the  big  fields  of  wheat  stubble 
and  cow  peas  that  clothe  the  tops  and  sides  of  the 
hills  are  apt  to  lure  the  quail  to  roost  and  feed  there. 
And  they  do  roost  and  feed  there  to  some  purpose, 
for  we  found  them  as  fat  as  butter,  and  so  plentiful 
that  we  were  able  to  flush  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
coveys  a  day. 

We  brought  with  us  on  our  trip  a  supply  of  bread 
sufficient  to  last  a  week ;  also  some  of  the  best  tea  and 
coffee.  We  did  so  as  a  matter  of  discretion,  for  our 
ears  had  been  filled  with  queer  stories  of  the  "fried 
things  "  and  the  curious  liquids  masquerading  as  "  tea 
and  coffee  "  that  lie  in  wait  in  this  region  to  astonish 
and  upset  the  nerves  of  a  civilized  stomach. 

We  reached  our  destination  in  the  early  afternoon 
and  were  pleased  to  meet  there  a  third  member  of  our 
party — a  young  dentist.  Men  of  his  profession,  I  be- 


QUAIL  SHOOTING  305 

lieve,  are  reckoned  among  the  world's  necessary  evils, 
making  their  living  out  of  the  miseries  of  other  peo- 
ple by  rasping  their  grinders,  filling  their  mouths  with 
rubber  dams — and  possibly  damns  of  another  sort — 
and  boring  into  the  bowels  of  their  molars.  How- 
ever, my  friend  had  deserted  this  occupation  for 
awhile  to  indulge  in  the  more  congenial  one  of  quail 
shooting,  and  when  we  arrived  we  found  him  and  his 
dogs  awaiting  us. 

After  taking  a  hasty  dinner  of  boiled  cabbage  and 
"  fried  things,"  we  started  for  the  fields ;  and  a  little 
later  the  battery  of  guns  shook  the  air,  while  the  whirr 
of  the  swift-flying  quail  greeted  our  ears  and  started 
our  blood  on  a  frisky  gallop  through  its  channels. 

Though  the  birds  were  there  in  abundance  they 
were  as  wild  as  Bob  White  knows  how  to  be  when  he 
is  pointed  at  and  shouted  at  and  shot  at  by  every  man 
in  the  country  who  can  get  hold  of  a  gun.  Down  in 
this  region  the  whole  of  Christmas  week,  as  well  as  the 
remainder  of  the  year,  is  Christmas,  and  everybody, 
whether  he  is  anybody,  or  not,  takes  a  grand  holiday 
and  starts  on  a  hunt  for  rabbits,  squirrels,  wild  turkeys, 
quail,  and  the  fat  opossum.  Xever  in  all  my  "  born 
days  "  have  I  seen  such  an  heterogeneous  assortment  of 
guns.  Guns  tied  with  wire ;  guns  wrapped  with  leather 
thongs  and  twine  to  keep  them  from  falling  apart ; 
old  muzzle-loaders  whose  rusty  barrels  were  loaded 
with  peril  for  the  man  bold  enough  to  fire  them ; 


306  SPORT   INDEED 

single  and  double  guns  with  balky  hammers — in  fact 
a  collection  of  real  curiosities  that  a  dime  museum 
manager  with  any  enterprize  ought  to  snap  at.  And 
then  the  dogs — or  "  dawgs  "  as  they  call  them  in  this 
region — their  diversity  is  even  greater  than  that  of 
the  guns.  Hounds  of  all  kinds,  some  of  which  would 
run  rabbits  and  not  bother  with  squirrels  ;  others  that 
would  tree  squirrels  and  not  trouble  their  heads  with 
rabbits;  opossum  dogs,  good,  bad  and  indifferent; 
pointers  of  the  first-class  and  others  of  no  class 
at  all.  But  all  were  in  demand  and  none  out  of 
use. 

I  saw  one  party  of  gunners  consisting  of  seventeen 
men  and  boys,  colored  and  white.  They  had  five 
hounds  with  them  and  were  in  pursuit  of  a  poor,  lone 
rabbit.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  ammunition  wasted, 
but  the  numbers  of  the  attacking  force  left  a  slim 
chance  for  the  rabbit,  and  it  was  killed. 

I  saw  another  party  that  had  treed  a  gray  squirrel 
in  an  old  poplar.  The  little  fellow,  in  his  endeavor  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  danger,  had  climbed  to  the  top 
of  the  tree — a  very  tall  one — and  there  he  sat,  with 
his  tail  curved  gracefully  over  his  back,  while  he 
looked  down  on  the  enemy  who  were  banging  away 
at  him  as  rapidly  as  they  could  fire  and  reload.  Their 
bangs,  however,  didn't  upset  either  himself  or  his 
equanimity.  When  I  left  they  had  fired  twenty  shots 
at  him  ;  still  the  little  fellow  sat  there  with  his  tail 


QUAIL  SHOOTING  307 

over  his  back,  and,  unless  the  enemy  have  been  re- 
inforced, he  may  be  sitting  there  yet. 

To  return  to  the  quail ; '  no  wonder  they  were  wild. 
JSro  wonder  that  when  they  were  flushed  they  flew 
like  bullets,  and  flew  far.  But  we  got  a  goodly  bag, 
and  when  it  was  too  dark  to  shoot  any  more  we 
climbed  the  hills  to  the  farmhouse,  hung  up  our 
birds,  and,  hungry  as  hunters  ever  were,  sat  down 
again  to  boiled  cabbage  and  "fried  things."  We 
were  early  to  bed.  Eight  of  the  clock  found  us  sound 
asleep,  and  at  daylight  we  were  again  up  and  doing. 

The  plantation  on  which  we  were  domiciled  had 
been  tilled  and  planted  with  tobacco  and  other  crops 
for  more  than  a  hundred  years,  and  the  soil  bids  fair 
to  last  for  a  hundred  more,  notwithstanding  the  bad 
repute  that  tobacco  has  for  its  exhaustion. 

It  is  a  little  strange  that  the  moral  and  physical 
ailments  of  the  people  hereabouts  are  so  inconsider- 
able. "  Preachin' "  is  a  physic  they  don't  seem  to 
relish — a  dose  of  it  once  a  month  being  all  that  they 
think  it  necessary  for  them  to  swallow.  Their  bodily 
ills  they  entrust  to  a  pair  of  doctors  whose  shops  are 
far  away — one  of  them  seven,  and  the  other  eleven 
miles.  These  ^Esculapians  have  a  sharp  eye  for 
business  and  conduct  it  strictly  on  the  "  spot  cash  " 
principle.  One  of  them  charges  $2.00  and  the  other 
§2.50  for  each  visit,  and  they  insist  upon  having  their 
fee  in  advance — a  rule  probably  based  on  their  knowl- 


308  SPORT   INDEED 

edge  that  it  is  easier  to  get  money  out  of  a  live  man 
than  a  dead  one. 

Perhaps  the  liveliest  man  in  this  moonshine  district 
is  the  moonshiner  himself.  And  he  has  need  to  be, 
for  it  requires  an  uncommon  amount  of  liveliness  to 
carry  on  his  business  and  keep  out  of  jail  at  the  same 
time.  The  whiskey  he  makes  is  pure,  without  doubt, 
and  white  as  water.  He  sells  it  at  a  dollar  per  gallon, 
but  it  isn't  every  one  that  can  buy  it ;  not  because  the 
price  is  out  of  his  reach,  but  for  the  reason  that  it 
isn't  every  one  the  daring  distiller  can  trust.  The 
thirsty  customer  must  be  a  man  whom  the  moon- 
shiner knows  to  be  friendly,  otherwise  he  will  have  to 
"go  dry,"  or  get  his  corn  juice  from  a  legitimate 
quarter. 

"We  had  one  week  of  hard  work — if  hunting  can  be 
called  work — and  then,  loaded  down  with  quail,  gray 
squirrels,  and  a  big  box  of  persimmons,  we  bade  fare- 
well, but  not  without  regret,  to  the  realm  of  the 
moonshiner.  We  envied  the  happiness  of  the  quaint 
people  with  whom  we  had  dwelt  during  our  trip,  and 
almost  wished  that  Fate  had  shaped  our  own  exist- 
ence in  the  same  mold.  They  are  strangers  to  sorrow 
and  sadness,  while  cares  of  any  sort  they  know  noth- 
ing about.  They  have  no  telegraph,  nor  telephone, 
nor  even  a  mail  boy  to  ruffle  the  smooth  current  of 
their  lives.  Their  wants  are  few.  Good-will,  good- 
fellowship,  the  open  air  of  heaven,  plenty  of  good 


QUAIL  SHOOTING  309 

water  and  an  occasional  sip  of  "  moonshine  "  are  all 
they  ask  of  this  world  ;  and  when  the  weight  of  years, 
rather  than  disease,  crowds  them  out  of  it,  they  leave 
behind  them  an  apt  illustration  of  the  old  proverb  : 
"  Contentment  is  better  than  riches." 


"  Trout  Tickling  "  and  an  Old-England  Blizzard 

Here  comes  the  trout  that  must  be  caught  with  tickling. 

— TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

UP  in  the  extreme  north  of  England  there  is  a 
great  stretch  of  moorlands,  with  here  and  there  a 
plantation  of  fir  trees.  Weardale,  in  the  county  of 
Durham,  is  situated  in  this  region,  and  among  its  hills 
the  Kiver  Wear  has  its  rise,  rushing  swiftly  down  its 
rocky  course  to  where  it  enters  the  sea  at  the  great 
shipping  port  of  Sunderland,  and,  on  its  way,  passing 
the  historic  city  of  Durham  with  its  grand  cathedral, 
and  the  town  of  Stanhope  where  the  learned  bishop 
of  Durham,  Joseph  Butler,  lived  and  wrote  his  "  Anal- 
ogy of  Religion." 

The  Wear  is  a  stream  well-fitted  to  stir  up  a  man's 
love  for  romance — if  he  has  any — and  to  feed  his 
fancy  for  the  musty  doings  of  Antiquity.  The  river 
flows  through  a  limestone  region  abounding  with  rich 
veins  of  lead  ore  which  have  been  worked  with  profit 
from  time  immemorial.  The  region  also  has  large 
coal  deposits,  and  these,  too,  have  been  worked  since 
the  days  of  Julius  Caesar  and  are  still  inexhausted. 

All  this  is  very  true.  But  suppose  "  the  man  with 
a  love  for  romance "  happens  to  be  a  "  sport "  ? 
What  cares  he  for  the  musty  doings  of  Antiquity  ? 

310 


"TROUT  TICKLING"  311 

Or  what  is  there  about  ancient  mines  of  lead  and  coal 
to  interest  him  ?  He  takes  as  little  stock  in  them — 
with  all  his  fondness  for  Wall  Street  "  flyers  " — as  he 
does  in  the  moon's  mines  of  green  cheese.  No ;  the 
River  Wear  must  boast  of  something  else  if  it  would 
rouse  his  love  for  romance  and  keep  his  interest 
awake.  Well,  it  does  boast  of  something  else,  and 
something  that  will  surely  do  both — it  is  a  favorite 
resort  for  the  speckled  trout  and  salmon. 

In  England  these  fish  are  protected  by  the  rigorous 
enforcement  of  the  poaching  laws,  and  woe  betide  the 
man  who  dares  to  cast  a  line  within  the  sacred  waters. 
Hence  it  is  that  the  poacher  trusts  to  his  dexterity  in 
"  tickling"  the  fish,  rather  than  attempting  to  capture 
them  with  rod  and  line,  and  run  the  risk  of  getting 
the  hook  of  the  law  in  his  own  gills.  And  the  poach- 
er's dexterity  is  rather  marvelous.  I  met  one  of  these 
old  fellows — their  stories  are  pretty  much  alike — who 
assured  me  that  never  in  his  life  had  he  caught  a  trout 
or  a  salmon  with  rod  and  line  ;  but  he  had  "  tickled  " 
many  a  one  into  his  pocket. 

And  this  is  how  the  "  tickling  "  is  done.  The  fish 
are  watched  working  their  way  up  the  shallows  and 
rapids.  When  they  come  to  the  shelter  of  a  ledge  or 
a  rock  it  is  their  nature  to  slide  under  it  and  rest. 
The  poacher  sees  the  edge  of  a  fin  or  the  moving  of  a 
tail,  or  maybe  he  sees  neither ;  instinct,  however,  tells 
him  a  fish  ought  to  be  there,  so  he  takes  to  the  water 


312  SPORT   INDEED 

very  softly  and  carefully  and  steals  up  near  the  spot. 
Then  he  kneels  on  one  knee  and  passes  his  hand,  turned 
\vith  fingers  up,  deftly  under  the  rock  until  it  comes 
in  contact  with  the  fish's  tail.  Then  he  begins  the 
tickling  with  his  forefinger,  gradually  running  his 
hand  along  the  fish's  belly  further  and  further  towards 
the  head  until  it  is  under  the  gills.  Then  comes  a 
quick  grasp,  a  struggle,  and  the  prize  is  wrenched  out  of 
his  natural  element,  stunned  with  a  blow  on  the  head, 
and  landed  in  the  pocket  of  the  poacher. 

I  was  born  very  near  this  classic  stream — not  more 
than  a  stone's  throw  from  its  banks — and  as  two  of  my 
male  relatives  were  out-and-out  sportsmen,  many  a 
lesson  I  received  from  them  in  my  early  days.  I  rec- 
ollect a  great  snowstorm  which  buried  that  section  of 
country  in  drifts  that  would  make  the  much-vaunted 
piles  of  our  American  blizzards  seem  puny  and  insig- 
nificant. The  distance  from  ocean  to  ocean  at  this 
point  is  only  sixty  miles,  and  the  fierce  winds  sweep 
down  the  English  Channel  on  the  one  side,  or  from 
the  German  Ocean  on  the  other,  and  drive  the  snow 
before  them  with  frightful  velocity,  burying  land- 
marks, houses,  fences  and  even  trees.  It  was  a  few 
days  before  Christmas,  in  1852,  that  a  great  storm 
visited  us.  I  was  seven  years  of  age,  and  therefore 
the  incidents  attending  it  made  a  lasting  impression. 
We  lived  in  a  low,  two-story  house  at  a  place  called 
Ling  Riggs,  directly  on  the  moors.  (Ling  is  another 


"TROUT  TICKLING"  315 

name  for  heather,  and  Riggs  another  name  for  rocks.) 
Our  house  was  so  completely  buried  in  the  snow  that 
a  tunnel  had  to  be  dug  through  the  drift  to  the  near- 
by road.  Through  this  road  a  channel  had  been  dug 
by  the  people  to  enable  them  to  make  connections 
with  the  village  of  Ireshope-Burn,  a  mile  or  so  below. 
After  the  storm  had  ceased  the  temperature  rose  and 
then  fell  again,  thus  solidifying  the  snow,  so  it  would 
almost,  but  not  quite,  bear  a  person's  weight. 

I  had  been  pent  up,  a  veritable  prisoner,  for  some 
days  by  this  snow  blockade,  but  on  Christmas  Day  the 
sun  shone  out  bright  and  warm,  and,  with  or  without 
parental  consent,  I  forget  which,  I  slipped  out  of  the 
house,  through  the  tunnel  to  the  road  and  over  the 
road  to  the  moors  beyond,  rejoicing  in  the  thought 
that  I  couldn't  get  lost,  because  I  could  surely  come 
back  on  my  own  tracks.  So  I  jumped  and  flounced 
in  the  snow,  that  was  deep  enough  to  bury  all  the 
stone  walls  and  hedges,  and  the  novelty  of  getting 
over  these  without  feeling  or  seeing  them  was  rather 
delightful  to  my  young  brain. 

But  look !  "  What's  that  struggling  in  the  snow 
ahead  of  me  ?  As  I  live,  a  big  hare,  and  almost  ex- 
hausted ! "  The  sight  nearly  robbed  me  of  my  breath. 
I  had  a  good  deal  of  the  sportsman's  blood  in  my 
veins,  even  at  that  early  period,  and  it  danced  through 
them  in  such  a  lively  fashion  I  forgot  all  about  the 
poaching  laws  and  went  for  "the  timorous  flving 


316  SPORT   INDEED 

hare."  The  chase  was  a  lively,  though  a  short  one. 
I  soon  caught  her  ladyship,  and  taking  off  my  coat 
wrapped  it  around  her  to  quiet  her  struggles,  and  then 
started  home  with  my  prize.  My  father  was  nearly 
as  much  excited  as  myself,  for  meat  of  any  kind  being 
scarce  in  those  days,  a  big  fat  hare  was  a  luxury 
worthy  of  considerable  glorification.  While  he  was 
holding  it  up  and  admiring  it  and  smacking  his  lips  at 
the  prospect  of  a  coming  feast,  my  grandfather  came 
in.  He  was  a  Methodist  preacher  and  a  very  strict 
one  in  his  regard  for  all  manner  of  laws.  Without  de- 
lay or  ceremony  he  began  to  lecture  my  father  for 
harboring  the  hare  and  encouraging  "his  lad"  in 
poaching.  The  lecture  was  a  long  one,  and  withal  so 
forcible,  that,  when  it  ended,  my  father  opened  the 
cottage  door  and  gave  the  hare  her  liberty.  I  noticed, 
however,  that  he  looked  longingly  in  the  direction  of 
his  vanishing  feast,  and  seemed  so  full  of  his  disappoint- 
ment that  I  came  near  forgetting  my  own.  But  I 
didn't.  My  grandfather  soon  left  for  his  home,  fully 
satisfied  that  he  had  done  his  duty  in  saving  his  son- 
in-law  and  grandson  from  an  infraction  of  the  poach- 
ing law.  As  I  have  said,  my  young  blood  had  a  good 
deal  of  the  "  sport "  in  it,  and  I  couldn't  for  the  life  of 
me  see  what  harm  I  had  committed.  In  fact,  I  was  so 
convinced  that  I  had  done  no  harm,  that  I  was  willing 
to  do  it  again.  So  as  soon  as  my  grandfather  was  out 
of  sight  I  slipped  out  of  the  house  and  took  up  the 


"TROUT  TICKLING'*  317 

hare's  trail.  This  time  I  had  a  hard  run  for  it,  but 
my  youthful  legs  were  swifter  than  the  hare's,  handi- 
capped as  she  was  with  snowdrifts.  Catching  her  and 
wrapping  her  once  more  in  my  jacket,  I  carried  her 
back  to  the  house.  There  was  no  compunction  or  hesi- 
tation on  my  father's  part  now.  He  promptly  killed 
the  hare,  and  the  quiet  tip  was  given  to  a  few  of  his 
friends,  and  invitations  to  the  feast  were  extended  and 
accepted  with  the  greatest  secrecy.  I  was  the.hero  of 
the  hour,  and  whether  my  grandfather  ever  knew  how 
or  why  I  deserved  my  heroic  honors  I  cannot  say.  It 
matters  little  now,  for  he  has  lain  in  his  grave  for 
more  than  two  score  years,  but  this  I  can  say,  that  the 
hare  and  the  chase  and  the  lecture  and  the  game  sup- 
per and  the  big  snowstorm — all  are  locked  in  the  coffer 
of  my  memory  and  tight  enough  to  stay  there. 


A  Dangerous  Ride 

Now,  I  spy  a  danger. 

— KING  LEAR. 

]STo  man  can  reasonably  hope  to  get  through  this 
world  without  sometimes  losing  his  way  among  its 
thorns  or  bucking  his  head  against  its  dangers.  The 
latter  are  plentiful  enough  to  keep  him  on  the  dodge 
from  those  he  sees,  while  he  holds  a  wary  eye  at  the 
peep-hole  of  discretion  for  those  that  may  be  lying  in 
ambush.  It  isn't  strange  that  he  follows  the  advice 
of  the  "  tricksy  Ariel " : 

"  If  of  life  you  keep  a  care, 
Shake  off  slumber  and  beware. " 

Nor  will  it  be  strange  if  he  continues  to  follow  it,  so 
long  as  life  is  so  sweet  and  death  is  so  bitter. 

Life  is  sweet  ?  Yes,  and  quite  as  sweet  to  the  sport 
as  it  is  to  other  people.  I  have  had  cause  to  be  con- 
scious of  its  sweetness,  and  sometimes  to  be  a  little 
anxious  for  its  safety.  At  one  of  these  times  I 
chanced  to  be  traveling  on  a  single-track-railway  train 
which  was  rushing  toward  another  coming  in  an  op- 
posite direction.  On  a  well-regulated  road,  guarded 
by  well-regulated  telegraph  operators,  anxiety  might 
have  been  groundless ;  but  before  I  get  through  with 
my  story  it  will  tell  the  reader  that  a  telegraph  oper- 

318 


A  DANGEROUS  RIDE  319 

ator,  when  he  falls  into  the  clutches  of  Cupid,  is  as  un- 
reliable as  any  other  mortal  in  a  like  fix.  His  appetite 
is  so  squandered  on  his  "  duck  "  he  has  none  of  it  left 
for  orders,  calls,  messages,  and  instructions ;  and,  like 
a  watch  without  a  balance  wheel,  all  his  regulations 
are  knocked  into  a  cocked-hat. 

Now  for  my  story. 

My  son  and  myself  were  out  in  Northwestern  Penn- 
sylvania, rabbit  and  pheasant-hunting,  taking  with  us 
a  couple  of  beagle  hounds  for  running  the  rabbits. 
We  had  reached  a  station  where  three  railroads  inter- 
sect, and  we  soon  discovered  that  no  two  of  them 
work  together  in  harmony.  If  you  arrive  there  at 
any  time  of  the  day  and  expect  to  make  train-connec- 
tion with  one  of  the  other  roads  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed. Their  managers,  however,  all  harmonize  on 
one  point — "  the  way  to  run  a  railroad  is  to  let  one 
man  do  the  work  of  six."  There  is  a  frame  station 
with  one  ticket  seller  who  acts  as  station  agent,  bag- 
gage-master, telegraph  operator,  signal  man,  freight 
agent,  and,  moreover,  is  expected  to  do  anything  else 
that  is  waiting  to  be  done. 

There  is  another  frame  house  a  short  distance  away 
in  which  a  section  boss  lives  with  his  wife  and  family. 
The  boss  is  a  man  of  some  enterprise  and  he  confines 
it  chiefly  to  squeezing  a  livelihood  out  of  the  passen- 
gers by  feeding  them  on  "  a  square  meal  for  a  quar- 
ter." A  big  sign  is  posted  in  front  of  his  establish- 


320  SPORT   INDEED 

ment  informing  the  passenger  of  the  gastronomic  bar- 
gain that  awaits  his  hungry  stomach.  On  a  previous 
visit  to  this  station  the  boss's  sign  was  the  first  thing 
that  struck  our  eye,  and  we  ventured  to  "  try  on  "  one 
of  his  "  square  meals."  It  was  a  misfit.  Our  inner- 
man's  grub  department  was  seemingly  too  round  to 
accommodate  his  four-cornered  meal,  and  it  swore  em- 
phatically, that  it  would  thenceforth  stick  to  the  round 
meal,  clean  and  understandable,  and  avoid  a  "  square  " 
one  made  of  dirt  and  mystery. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  when  our  train 
reached  this  junction,  and  the  train,  with  which  we 
were  to  connect  in  order  to  reach  our  destination, 
would  not  be  due  at  the  station  for  some  four  hours. 
In  the  meanwhile  hunger,  which  waits  for  neither 
time,  tide,  nor  railroad  trains,  began  to  show  its  teeth 
and  gnaw  at  our  inner  walls.  We  let  it  gnaw  awhile 
— rather  than  worry  our  stomach  with  any  quadrangu- 
lar experiments — and  then  satisfied  it  with  a  meal  of 
apples  and  raw  turnips.  The  dainty  jaws  of  a  city 
chap  may  turn  up  their  nose  at  a  dinner  of  apples  and 
raw  turnips,  but  they  will  turn  it  the  other  way  should 
they  ever  become  the  property  of  a  hunter.  The 
"  sport's  "  hunger  is  sometimes  his  only  sauce  ;  but  it 
is  a  good  one,  and  with  its  aid  he  might  possibly  make 
a  satisfactory  meal  of  boiled  cobbles  and  sole-leather. 

The  country  about  us  looked  a  likely  spot  for  rab- 
bits ;  and  the  beagles,  too,  appeared  to  think  so,  for 


A  DANGEROUS  RIDE  321 

they  were  tugging  at  their  chains  in  the  baggage  - 
room.  So  we  asked  the  youth  in  charge  of  the  sta- 
tion if  he  would  look  after  our  baggage  while  we  gave 
the  dogs  a  run.  He  consented,  and  shouldering  our 
guns  we  started  down  the  track  with  the  dogs. 

We  had  walked  perhaps  half  a  mile,  when  the 
hounds  struck  a  rabbit  trail  and  were  off  in  full  cry. 
Just  then  the  youth,  with  whom  we  had  left  our  lug- 
gage, joined  us,  saying  he  "  Couldn't  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  go  along  with  us  no  how."  He  had  locked  up 
the  station  and  run  down  the  track  after  us  with  such 
speed  that  when  he  arrived  he  was  entirely  short  of 
breath.  He  sat  down  to  rest,  but  in  an  instant  was 
on  his  feet  again,  and,  with  a  "  By  thunder !  "  ejacula- 
tion, started  to  run  back  toward  the  station,  jumping 
the  cross-ties,  and  altogether  acting  as  if  he  were 
troubled  with  "  rats  in  his  upper  story."  There  was 
something  wrong,  but  as  we  couldn't  guess  what,  we 
gave  up  the  problem  and  went  on  with  the  hunt. 

The  shades  of  night  now  began  to  fall  and  we  re- 
turned to  the  station.  The  youth  was  there,  and  as 
he  saw  that  we  were  shivering  in  the  chilly  air,  he  in- 
vited us  into  his  ticket  office  where  it  was  warm  and 
where  we  might  stay  until  our  train  arrived. 

"  Why  did  you  leave  us  in  such  a  hurry  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  you  see,  bein'  Saturday  night,  a  special  train 
for  workmen  from  the  West  was  due  here  at  a  certain 
time,  and  I  had  orders  to  hold  her  until  another  train 


322  SPORT   INDEED 

passed  from  the  East.  I  was  so  anxious  to  be  along 
with  you  that  I  forgot  all  about  my  orders  until  you 
saw  me  jump  up  and  hurry  down  the  track.  And,  by 
jingo !  had  I  been  half  a  minute  later,  I  should  have 
had  the  devil  to  settle  with." 

We  sat  for  awhile  listening  to  the  incessant  clicking 
of  the  three  telegraph  instruments,  and  then  our  curi- 
osity got  the  better  of  us. 

"  Tell  us,  my  friend,"  I  said,  "  what  are  all  these  in- 
struments talking  about  ?  " 

His  reply  rather  startled  me. 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell  you  exactly  what  they  are  say- 
ing. This  one  is  a  working  wire  of  the Railroad. 

And  this  one  is  the  working  wire  of  the  -  -  Railroad. 
It's  wet  weather  now,  and  I  can't  take  the  stuff  as 
well  as  when  it's  dry.  Although,  as  I'm  only  a  green- 
horn, I  can't  take  it  very  well  at  any  time.  I've  only 
been  at  the  business  about  three  months,  and  this  is 
the  first  time  I've  been  left  alone  to  run  the  office." 

"  How  much  do  they  pay  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  get  no  pay.  The  station  master  gets 
all  that." 

"  The  station  master  ?     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Sam  Wright.  He's  the  man  that  does  all  the  tele- 
graphing work  when  he's  here." 

"  And  why  isn't  he  here  now,  instead  of  leaving  a 
greenhorn  to  attend  to  his  business  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.     You  see,  Sam  is  awfully  stuck 


A  DANGEROUS  RIDE  323 

on  a  girl  down  at  Newcastle.  So  he  says  to  me  this 
morning,  '  Bill,  I  hain't  seen  her  for  a  week,  and  I 
can't  stand  it  no  longer.  You  take  hold  o'  things  and 
I'll  run  right  down  and  come  back  Monday  morning.' 
So  he  left  me,  and  I  tell  you  what,  when  I  hear  these 
instruments  pounding  away  so  fast  that  I  can't  under- 
stand half  they  are  talking  about,  it  shakes  my  nerves 
up  awful.  "When  I  get  a '  call '  it's  just  as  likely  as  not 
to  come  so  fast  I  can't  take  a  word  of  it." 

There  was  quite  enough  in  the  greenhorn's  informa- 
tion to  set  us  soliloquizing  on  what  might  happen  dur- 
ing Sam  Wright's  absence.  Wouldn't  it  have  been 
more  considerate  to  let  his  girl  wait  rather  than  run 
the  risk  of  launching  a  carload  of  people  into  Eter- 
nity ?  Of  course  it  would  ;  but  a  man  troubled  with 
"  girl  on  the  brain  "  has  no  spare  room  in  that  locality 
for  the  consideration  of  unpleasant  possibilities. 

Our  soliloquy  was  here  interrupted  by  one  of  the 
instruments  clicking  so  vigorously  that  it  drowned  the 
noise  of  the  others.  We  were  sure  it  was  a  call  for 
this  station,  because  of  the  agonized  expression  that 
crept  over  the  greenhorn's  face  as  he  tried  to  make 
out  the  fast  coming  message.  While  he  could  take 
some  of  it,  there  was  evidently  more  of  it  that  he 
couldn't  take.  So  at  last  he  was  forced  to  ask  the 
sender  to  "  slow  up."  As  it  was  now  near  our  train 
time  I  asked  him  if  the  message  he  was  taking  had 
any  reference  to  our  train. 


324  SPORT   INDEED 

"  I'm  not  right  sure,  but  I  think  it  means  that  your 

train  will  be  held  at  M twelve  miles  from  here,  for 

No.  4  to  pass  her.  (The  trains  were  to  have  passed 
each  other  at  our  junction.)  At  any  rate  I  am  going 
to  risk  it,  and  notify  the  conductor  of  your  train  to 
wait  there." 

"  But  supposing,"  I  said,  "  you  are  wrong  about  it, 
what  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  it'll  come  out  all  right,  because  the 

man  at  M I  think  will  get  orders  to  hold  No.  4 

there.  At  any  rate,  I'm  doin'  the  best  I  can,  and,  if 
anything  happens,  your  blood  will  be  on  Sam  Wright's 
head,  and  not  on  mine." 

This  bit  of  information  was  not  altogether  pleasant. 
Blood  is  a  precious  commodity,  or,  at  least,  is  so  rated 
in  the  estimation  of  its  owner.  How  much  of  it  I 
may  own,  I  know  not ;  but  whether  it  be  enough  to 
float  a  ship,  or  not  enough  to  make  a  supper  for  a  flea, 
I  have  no  desire  that  it  should  make  its  abode  on  the 
top  of  Sam  "Wright's  head,  nor,  for  that  matter,  the 
head  of  any  other  fellow. 

Our  talk  was  now  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of  the 

train  that  was  to  carry  us  on  our  way  to  M ,  or 

possibly  to  some  station  in  the  other  world.  We 
stowed  our  luggage  and  dogs  in  the  baggage  car; 
then,  discreetly  picking  out  the  two  last  seats  in  the 
train,  we  raised  a  window  on  either  side  of  the  car, 
and  poked  our  heads  out  into  the  darkness.  All  the 


A  DANGEROUS  RIDE  325 

greenhorn's  telegraphic  ignorance  hovered  over  us 
like  a  nightmare,  whispering  to  our  heated  imagina- 
tion that  a  locomotive  headlight  would  swing  around 
the  next  curve,  and  "  Number  4  "  would  commence  at 
once  to  scatter  our  blood  on  the  top  of  Sam  "Wright's 
head. 

I  have  traveled  in  my  time  many  railway  miles, 
some  of  which  were  long  enough  to  worry  my  pa- 
tience ;  but  my  recollection  knows  of  none  that  can 
compare  in  length  and  worriment  with  those  twelve 
miles  to  M . 

They  came  to  an  end  at  last ;  and  when  they  did  we 
found  Number  4  waiting  for  us  on  the  siding.  The 
greenhorn  had  taken  the  message  right ;  our  train  was 
safe ;  and  Sam  Wright's  head  will  have  to  wait  awhile 
longer  for  its  sanguinary  sprinkle. 


A  Fight  to  the  Death 

Both  sides  fiercely  fought. 


— HENRY  VI. 


IN  the  early  summer  of — well,  it  matters  not  what 
year,  I  was  one  of  a  few  city  men  camped  in  the 
wilds  of  Pike  County,  Pa.  Each  of  us  expected  to 
catch  his  complement  of  thirty-five  lusty,  speckled 
trout,  which  are  all  that  the  rules  of  the  Beaver  Kun 
Club,  whose  guests  we  were,  will  allow  any  member 
to  kill  in  any  one  season.  Besides,  every  fish  must  be 
over  eight  inches  in  length,  or  back  he  goes  into  the 
stream. 

Now,  Japan  is  said  to  be  the  home  of  the  rhododen- 
dron, the  whole  island  kingdom  being  one  great  bed 
of  those  gorgeously  dressed  flowers.  Pike  County  is 
the  home  of  the  mountain  laurel  and  it  grows  and 
thrives  there  in  the  wildest  luxuriance.  It  seems  to 
flourish  equally  well  on  the  ridges,  in  the  thick  clus- 
ters of  the  woods  or  by  the  edges  of  the  trout  ponds 
or  their  emptying  streams. 

When  the  bushes  are  in  the  glory  of  their  bloom, 
swaying  their  mass  of  colors  in  the  breeze — when  the 
eye  sees  in  the  back  and  foreground  the  wealth  of 
wild  roses,  the  acres  upon  acres  of  blackberry  bushes 
clothed  in  their  snowy  blossoms,  the  hazel  and  elder- 

326 


A  FIGHT  TO  THE  DEATH         327 

berry  bushes  and  the  hop  vines  weighted  with  rustic 
loveliness,  then  is  our  sense  rapt  with  the  picture,  and 
Tom  Moore's  ecstatic  outburst  over  the  Vale  of  Cash- 
mere comes  to  our  recollection  and  leaps  from  our 
tongue : 

"  What  a  wilderness  of  flowers  !  " 

The  picture  is  full  of  Nature's  dainty  touches.  She 
is  a  rare  painter,  and  the  man  whose  sense  of  beauty 
sleeps  unroused  by  her  miraculous  coloring  must  be  a 
clod,  and  his  life  can  hardly  be  worth  the  living. 

However,  if  the  beauty  of  the  flowers  and  the 
grasses  and  the  lush  meadows  and  the  ripening  fields 
of  rye,  waving  their  golden  billows  in  the  sunlight— 
if  all  this  pulchritude  doesn't  convince  his  eyes  that 
Nature  is  marvelously  nice  in  making  up  a  summer 
toilet  for  Pike,  perhaps  her  feathered  warblers  might 
appeal  to  another  of  his  senses.  Her  songsters  are 
here  in  wondrous  variety  and  multiply  amazingly— 
which,  by  the  way,  is  also  true  of  some  of  her  goodly 
game-birds,  notably  the  quail,  the  ruffed  grouse  and 
the  woodcock. 

When  I  arrived  here  it  was  night  and  my  ears  were 
greeted  only  by  the  sad  song  of  the  whip-poor-will. 
He  seemed  ubiquitous,  for  I  heard  him  reciting  "  the 
ballad  of  his  grief  "  from  every  direction.  Sunrise, 
however,  put  an  end  to  his  melancholy  ditty,  and 
then  the  bird  concert  began.  To  distinguish  the 


328  SPORT   INDEED 

several  songsters  was  difficult.  They  all  sang  to- 
gether and  so  lustily  and  well  it  was  indeed  hard  to 
tell  which  was  which.  I  listened,  and  by  and  by  my 
ear  recognized  the  warble  of  the  gay-dressed  oriole  ; 
then  the  sweet,  loving  song  of  the  linnet ;  then  the 
robin,  the  flicker,  the  catbird,  the  blue-jay  and  the 
song-sparrow,  while  from  across  a  trout-pond  the 
familiar  note  of  Bob  White  rang  out  clear  and 
sweet,  piercing  the  morning  air  like  the  notes  of  a 
piccolo.  Then  a  "Wilson  snipe  started  up  and  swept 
away  in  the  distance  with  its  cry  of  "  Scaip ! " 
"  scaip !  "  while  a  pair  of  sand-snipe  joined  their  piping 
notes  to  the  pleasing  chorus.  The  red-winged  black- 
bird and  the  mottle-breasted  thrush,  both  volunteered 
their  aid  to  the  sunrise  concert  and  were  as  blithe  in 
the  execution  of  their  arias  as  the  rest  of  the  feathered 
tenors.  But  I  mustn't  forget  to  mention  the  leader  of 
the  troupe,  the  bobolink.  I  heard  him  pouring  out 
his  rollicking  song,  and  he  did  it  with  such  gusto  I 
thought  the  pipes  of  his  little  throat  would  surely 
split. 

Yes,  the  air  was  full  of  glee.  But,  while  the  birds 
sang  and  the  bees  worked  and  the  trout  leaped  for  the 
passing  fly — while  roseate  shadows  flecked  the  blue 
vault  and  kissed  the  brooks  that  babbled  through  the 
daisies — while  joy  and  gladness  reigned  in  Nature's 
realm  and  the  good  dame  seemed  to  be  chuckling 
over  the  cleverness  of  her  own  handiwork,  Sorrow 


A  FIGHT  TO  THE  DEATH        329 

lurked  in  the  land  of  Pike.  My  friends  and  myself 
were  gathered  around  the  grateful  log-fire  in  the  club- 
room  and  our  talk  turned  chiefly  upon  this  sorrow, 
coupled  as  it  was  with  the  tragic  death  of  young 
Walter  Clark.  Walter  was  the  son  of  Squire  Clark — 
a  respected  magistrate  of  the  county — and  the  cause 
of  the  boy's  death  was  a  fight  to  the  finish  with  a  big 
and  vicious  rattlesnake.  The  snake  won  and  the  boy 
won,  for  each  killed  the  other.  "  'T\vas  a  fight  to  the 
death,"  and  the  story  of  it  had  to  be  told  by  con- 
jecture. It  took  place  in  the  seclusion  of  the  woods, 
with  no  eye-witness,  and  one  of  the  combatants  was 
dead  and  the  other  unconscious  when  found.  Walter 
Clark  was  a  boy  of  eleven  summers,  sturdy  and  strong 
for  his  age,  but  a  fever  had  left  him,  as  a  proof  of  its 
virulence,  an  impaired  mind  and  imperfect  speech. 
He  had  one  marked  trait — a  strong  antipathy  to 
snakes  and  hornets  and  he  would  gladly  fight  either 
when  opportunity  offered.  On  the  day  of  the  fight 
the  father  was  working  in  the  field  and  Walter  was 
helping  him,  barelegged,  with  but  shirt  and  pants  on. 
The  boy  heard  the  ringing  of  a  cow-bell,  and  said  to 
his  father,  "  Cow  !  cow  !  "  His  father  replied  :  "  Yes, 
I  hear  the  bell,"  and  went  on  with  his  work.  The 
boy  started  down  the  road  in  the  direction  whence 
the  sound  came,  and  that  was  the  last  seen  of  him 
until  a  search  was  made  over  three  hours  after.  He 
was  found  away  from  the  road,  swollen  and  uncon- 


330  SPORT    INDEED 

cious,  his  tongue  out  and  swelled  to  such  a  size  that 
his  mouth  could  not  be  shut.  He  was  bitten  on  his 
hands,  his  arms,  his  face  and  his  legs,  and  some 
twenty  feet  away  from  him  lay  a  great  rattlesnake 
with  its  back  broken  in  three  places  and  its  fangs  in- 
serted in  its  own  body,  forming  a  loop. 

It  is  supposed  that  the  boy,  after  breaking  the 
rattler's  back,  caught  the  reptile  in  his  hands  with  the 
intention  of  crushing  out  its  life ;  that  it  bit  him  over 
and  over  again  wherever  it  pleased,  and  finally 
fastened  its  fangs  in  its  own  body.  Then  the  sup- 
position is  that  the  boy  grew  weak  from  his  wounds, 
dropped  his  hold  of  the  rattler  and  fell  back  in  a 
swoon. 

A  brother  of  Walter's,  who  was  also  a  lad,  found 
him  where  he  lay  and  carried  him  on  his  back  for 
over  a  mile  and  a  quarter.  Then  the  brother's 
strength  gave  out  and  he  fell  by  the  wayside.  The 
father  ran  toward  the  two  boys  and  at  once  com- 
menced to  doctor  the  wounded  one.  Repeated  doses 
of  whiskey  and  milk  revived  the  boy  for  a  while,  and 
during  the  whole  of  his  conciousness,  and  with  fierce 
look  and  gesture,  he  would  shout,  "  Dam'd  snake ! 
dam'd  snake !  "  But  convulsions  soon  set  in  and  he 
died.  His  body  became  spotted  like  the  snake's,  with 
streaks  on  his  chest  and  sides  and  spots  upon  his 
cheeks  and  brow. 

A  wagon  was  sent  post-haste  to  Stroudsburg  for  a 


A  FIGHT  TO  THE  DEATH         331 

coffin,  but  as  none  could  be  had  in  that  rustic  town  it 
was  necessary  to  send  to  Easton  for  one.  And  so  the 
plucky  boy  was  laid  beneath  the  sod,  and  the  neigh- 
bors and  visitors  to  this  wild  region  revel  in  stories  of 
snakes,  of  snake  bites  and  snake  fights,  and  the  men 
hereabouts  look  carefully  where  they  tread,  and  jump 
at  the  rustle  of  every  chipmunk.  And  the  women- 
God  bless  'em — they  hug  the  safety  of  the  boarding- 
house  or  hotel  porch  and  will  not  wander  afield  for 
love  or  money.  And  who  can  blame  them?  The 
fields  and  the  woods  and  the  groves  of  Pike  swarm 
with  the  deadly  rattlers  and  the  women — again  I  say 
God  bless  'em ! — all  know  it.  They  take  no  stock  in 
snakes  of  any  sort.  They  haven't  forgotten  how  one 
of  these  reptiles  befooled  the  Mother  of  Mankind  with 
honey  and  soft-soap  and  piled  upon  the  shoulders  of 
the  world  a  pack  of  trouble  under  which  it  still  stag- 
gers. No ;  since  the  time  of  Eve  and  her  mischievous 
apple  all  womankind  have  had  a  dread  of  snakes  and 
always  will  have  till  the  world  grows  gray  and  Time 
gives  up  the  ghost. 


A  Pilgrimage  to  the  "  White ' 

I'll  drop  me  now  the  current  of  my  sport 
To  loll  awhile  in  Fashion's  giddy  court. 

— ANON. 

ALTHOUGH  hunting  occupies  a  big  room  in  my 
heart  it  isn't  the  only  recreation  tenant.  There  is 
another  one,  and  I  now  throw  aside  my  rifle  to  speak 
of  it.  For  a  long  time  past  I  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  making  an  annual  pilgrimage  to  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs — "  the  Saratoga  of  the  South."  If  the  reader 
has  ever  been  there  he  will  possibly  think,  with  me, 
that  few  portions  of  the  globe  can  furnish  more  ma- 
terial for  the  pencil  of  the  artist  and  the  pen  of  the 
novelist.  "Where  else  can  the  eye  feast  more  sumptu- 
ously than  on  the  scenery  of  the  White  ?  Where  else 
can  be  found  more  romantic  beauty  than  lies  cradled 
in  its  valleys  ?  Behold  them  teeming  with  their  fruit- 
ful crops  and  draped  in  luxuriant  foliage  through 
whose  bosom  peeps  the  humble  cabin  of  some  former 
slave,  while  here  and  there  a  more  pretentious  home 
lifts  its  trim  roof  above  the  green  as  if  to  greet  the 
sun  and  sniff  the  bracing  air.  All  this,  and  in  a 
frame  of  rugged  mountains  enchanting  in  their  wild- 
ness,  and  the  picture  is  complete. 

Thus  much  for  the  artist.     As  for  the  novelist,  he 

339 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  "WHITE"  333 

will  find  it  a  great  gathering  place  for  the  wealth  and 
beauty  of  the  South;  a  place  bubbling  over  with 
revelry,  amusement,  flirting,  and  love-making.  He 
may  witness  there  the  excitement  and  seduction  of 
the  "green-baize  table"  and  possibly  find  enough  ma- 
terial to  furnish  a  tragic  chapter  for  his  fiction.  If 
he  should  need  stories  of  the  Civil  War  he  can  fill 
his  brain-pan  with  any  quantity  of  incidents  that 
happened  in  and  about  the  "  White  "  during  "  our  late 
unpleasantness." 

The  hotel  was  used,  at  one  time,  as  a  hospital  for 
Northern  troops ;  at  another,  as  a  stable  and  resting- 
place  for  the  Confederates.  Being  only  five  miles 
from  the  Virginia  line  this  watering-place  was  looked 
upon  as  neutral  territory.  Here,  from  the  earliest 
days  of  the  nineteenth  century,  presidents  have  spent 
their  holidays  and  held  court,  and  dispensed  official 
patronage  under  the  old  oaks  that  lift  their  stately 
heads  above  the  lawn.  Here  senators,  representa- 
tives, governors  and  bankers  have  met  on  the  hotel 
porches  or  under  its  cottage  roofs  and  discussed  their 
pet  measures  of  national,  state  and  financial  policy. 

A  southern  colonel  who  had  lost  everything  dur- 
ing the  war — except  his  love  for  whiskey — came  to 
sojourn  at  the  "White."  He  was  never  known  to 
have  any  money,  but  was  generally  flitting  around 
the  bar,  waiting  for  the  refrain  "come  and  take 
suthin',  Colonel,"  which  invitation  he  was  never 


334  SPORT    INDEED 

known  to  refuse.  In  consequence  of  these  eccentrici- 
ties he  was  looked  upon  with  suspicion  by  the  man- 
ager of  the  house,  who  promptly  sent  him  his  bill  at 
the  end  of  the  week,  together  with  a  request  to  pay 
up.  The  colonel  put  the  bill  in  his  pocket  and  prom- 
ised to  attend  to  it.  A  couple  of  days  passed  and  the 
manager  stirred  him  up  again,  this  time  sending  the 
message  that  he  must  either  pay  the  bill  or  leave. 
The  Colonel  glared  at  the  messenger  savagely  and 
then  asked,  "  Did  the  manager  send  you  to  me  with 
such  a  message  ?  "  The  clerk  timorously  replied  that 
he  did.  "  Well,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  tell  the  manager 
that  I'll  leave  at  once,  for  that  is  only  faar,  and  I  be- 
lieve in  bein'  faar."  And  he  left  the  hotel.  It  need 
hardly  be  added  that  he  left  the  hotel  bill,  too; 

As  I  have  said,  the  novelist  might  find  around  the 
"  White  "  plenty  of  food  for  his  fancy,  full  of  richness 
flavored  with  facts  and  seasoned  with  all  the  spice  of 
romance.  The  genial  southern  gentleman  who  is 
superintendent  of  the  hotel,  and  known  far  and  wide 
as  "  The  Major,"  could,  if  he  would,  unwind  many  a 
yarn  on  the  late  "unpleasantness."  He  might,  for 
instance,  tell  of  the  time  when  he,  with  a  troop  of 
Confederate  cavalry  commanded  the  bridge  over  the 
Greenbrier  Kiver,  six  miles  below  here — when  he 
saw  from  the  opposite  hills  an  immense  force  of  the 
"  Boys  in  Blue  "  defiling  down  the  long  road — when  he 
and  his  troop  were  discovered,  and  how  the  "Yanks" 


AN  EXCITING  CHASE 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  "WHITE"  337 

put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  the  "  Johnnies  "  started 
for  safer  quarters  —  how  they  came  flying  past  the 
Grecian  columns  of  the  great  hotel  with  the  Yanks 
close  at  their  heels — how  they  plunged  through  Dry 
Creek,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  over  the  Alleghany 
Mountains  to  Old  Sweet  Springs,  a  ride  of  about 
twenty  miles,  before  the  pursuit  and  flight  were  over. 
And  then  the  Major  will  probably  wind  up  his  yarn 
with  "  My  command  was  safe  and  not  a  man  lost ! " 

The  Major's  tales  are  always  full  of  powder. 

Eleven  miles  from  the  "  White,"  is  Lewisburg, 
W.  Va.,  the  county  town  of  Greenbrier  County.  To 
reach  it  a  high  mountain  has  to  be  overcome,  or  over- 
gone, on  the  higher  points  of  which  is  a  stretch  of 
utterly  worthless  land.  The  soil,  what  little  there  is, 
is  red,  stony  and  incapable  of  producing  anything 
better  than  an  occasional  thistle  or  a  stunted,  sickly, 
pine  shrub.  One  hot  day  an  old-time  stage-coach  was 
toiling  slowly  up  the  long  hill,  with  its  load  of  pas- 
sengers who  were  making  merry  over  the  "  pore  land." 
One  of  them  ventured  the  remark :  "  The  man  who 

owns  that  land  must  be  a  d d  fool."  Thereupon 

a  long,  lanky  West  Virginian  rose  up  and  confronting 
the  speaker  in  an  angry  and  defiant  manner  said,  "  I 

own  that  land,  but  I'm  not  such  a  d d  fool  as  you 

take  me  for — I  only  own  half  on  it." 

Coming  down  from  a  horseback  ride  on  Kate  Moun- 
tain, one  of  West  Virginia's  giant  hills,  my  son  said 


338  SPORT   INDEED 

to  me,  "Aren't  these  West  Virginia  mountaineers 
quaint  people  ?  "  I  readily  answered  that  they  were, 
for  I  have  never  seen  their  quaintness  and  a  few  of 
their  other  peculiarities  equaled.  Old-fashioned  fel- 
lows, homely,  frugal,  careless  of  dress  and  the  pro- 
prieties of  life  generally,  eternal  chewers  of  tobacco, 
iron-clad  swearers,  and  always  hard  up.  The  current 
incidents  of  time  have  no  claims  on  their  attention, 
unless  such  incidents  relate  to  the  triumph  of  De- 
mocracy or  the  success  of  the  season  at  the  "  White  " ; 
the  latter  more  particularly,  for  on  it  is  based  their 
sole  hope  of  seeing  some  ready  cash  during  the  year. 
This  famous  resort  furnishes  employment  to  about 
five  hundred  "  help  "  in  the  summer,  and  maybe  fifty 
or  more  the  rest  of  the  year  ;  and  thus  it  becomes  the 
distributing  source  of  a  goodly  number  of  thousands 
of  dollars  annually.  It  would  be  hard  to  compute 
the  amount  that  liverymen,  florists,  photographers, 
doctors,  musicians  and  the  seductive  gentlemen  who 
preside  over  the  fortunes  of  the  "  green  table  "  rake  in 
from  the  army  of  guests  who  patronize  the  "  Saratoga 
of  the  South."  Speaking  of  liverymen,  one  of  them, 
an  abominable  swearer,  promised  me  he  would 
abandon  the  habit  which  I  told  him  I  abhorred.  It 
seems,  however,  he  forgot  his  promise.  Here  is  his 
letter  to  me  verbatim,  which  will  tell  how. 

Pleas  find  enclosed  fifteen  dolers  to  pay  youre  bill, 
the  reason  of  delay  was,  hard  times,  bad  weather,  sick- 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  "  WHITE"  339 

ness  and  no  money,    d— — d  if  I  believe  there's  $500 
in  circulation  in  the  hole  United  States. 

Yours  Truly  — 

I  reproached  him  for  having  broken  his  solemn 
word  about  swearing.  "Well,"  he  said,  "I  tried  not 
to,  but  I  couldn't  help  it ;  times  were  so  awful  pore. 
"Why,"  said  he,  "  I  owed  a  man  ten  cents  who  lived 
eighteen  miles  off,  and  he  drove  in  one  day  and  sat 
around  for  over  an  hour  when  he  said  he  wished  I 
would  pay  him  that  ten  cents,  as  he  had  driven  all 
the  way  in  after  it,  which  would  make  the  round  trip 
thirty-six  miles  for  ten  cents."  He  told  this  incident 
to  prove  the  scarcity  of  money  in  his  locality. 

Last  year  a  lumberman  who  had  drifted  into  finan- 
cial difficulties  allowed  three  notes  which  I  held 
against  him  to  go  to  protest.  I  was  advised  to  give 
them  to  a  firm  of  lawyers  in  a  neighboring  town  to 
collect.  So  I  drove  over  and  found  that  the  firm  con- 
sisted of  two  brothers,  one  of  whom  was  that  very 
day  in  the  height  of  excitement,  running  as  a  candi- 
date for  a  public  office  of  a  responsible  and  honorable 
character.  After  a  chase  I  finally  captured  the  other 
brother  and  gave  him  the  notes  for  collection.  He 
said  he  guessed  there  wasn't  much  use,  but  he'd  try 
his  best ;  and  putting  the  notes  in  his  pocket  drove 
off.  Last  week  I  happened  to  meet  the  maker  of  the 
notes,  who  was  joyous  over  the  fact  that  he  would 
soon  be  able  to  pay  off  his  creditors  and  asked  after 


340  SPORT   INDEED 

the  three  notes.  I  told  him  to  whom  I  had  given 
them  for  collection,  but  he  said  he  had  never  heard 
from  them.  He  advised  me  to  ride  to  the  town  and 
get  them ;  so  next  day  I  started  over  the  mountains 
to  see  the  legal  lights.  On  the  road  I  met  my  friend 
the  lumberman  coming  back,  and  he  reported  that  the 
lawyers  had  no  recollection  of  my  claim  whatever. 

On  my  arrival  I  found  the  pundits  in  a  little  up- 
stairs room  and  seated  at  a  table  covered  with  envel- 
opes, opened  letters,  bills  of  sale,  bonds,  writs  of 
replevin,  leases,  promissory  notes  and  various  legal 
documents  probably  loaded  with  trouble  for  some- 
body. 

The  elder  brother  was  a  genial,  kindly-looking  man, 
with  an  old  straw  hat,  a  shirt  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  and  no  coat,  vest,  collar  or  necktie.  He  assured 
me,  when  I  told  him  who  I  was,  that  he  had  promptly 
presented  my  claim  to  the  lumberman,  but  he  found 
that  if  he  sued  he  hadn't  any  chance,  and  so  had 
waited.  I  asked  for  the  return  of  the  notes.  Then  a 
hunt  was  started,  and  such  a  hunt  as  only  the  im- 
mortal Dickens  could,  with  justice,  have  described. 
Brother  number  one  looked  through  the  letters,  papers 
and  portfolios  at  his  side  of  the  table.  Brother  num- 
ber two  ditto  at  his  side.  The  day  was  hot,  muggy 
and  oppressive,  and  the  note-hunters  grew  worried, 
excited  and  nervous.  Brother  number  two  said  he 
guessed  he'd  go  home  and  look  through  his  clothes, 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  "WHITE"  341 

which  he  did,  brother  number  one  in  the  meantime 
going  through  his  printed  blanks  in  his  search. 
Brother  number  two  finally  returned  without  the 
notes  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  I  had  never 
given  him  any  notes.  This  was  awkward  on  number 
one,  because  he  had  related  very  minutely  just  how  he 
had  presented  them  to  the  debtor. 

So  it  was,  as  an  Irishman  said,  "  like  bein'  in  the 
cinther  of  a  hobble,"  and  with  a  look  of  despair  they 
gave  up  the  hunt  and  acknowledged  they  would  have 
to  give  the  debtor  a  bond  to  keep  him  harmless  from 
the  notes  if  they  ever  turned  up.  Their  only  apology 
for  their  carelessness  was  that  "  notes  in  "West  Vir- 
ginia ain't  much  account,  no  how,  when  they'd  got  to 
be  sued  for,"  and  so  they  didn't  "  set  much  store  by 
them." 

At  the  lumbering  town  of  Ronceverte,  W.  Ya., 
eleven  miles  below  on  the  Greenbrier  River,  a  great 
boom  and  a  gigantic  saw  mill  had  for  years  impeded 
the  passage  of  black  bass,  trout  and  other  fish  up  the 
river  which  in  olden  times  was  always  a  noted  stream 
for  the  bass.  The  fish  used  to  be  of  immense  size, 
and,  of  course,  as  gamey  as  black  bass  can  be  in  cold, 
mountain  streams.  Early  one  spring  the  ice  and 
winter  floods  caused  a  break  in  the  big  dam  which 
took  considerable  time  in  repairing,  and  behold,  the 
following  summer  found  the  river  full  of  the  fighting 
beauties  voraciously  hungry  to  take  fly,  minnow,  or 


342  SPORT   INDEED 

even  bait.  In  season  it  affords  fishing  "  as  is  fishing," 
and  the  Izaak  Waltons  wend  their  way  thither  from 
distant  parts  to  pursue  their  fascinating  sport. 
Among  these  Waltons  may  be  found  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men  from  the  sole  President  of  the 
United  States  down  to  the  multitudinous  John  Smith. 

Verily,  the  old  Anglo-Saxon  love  of  sport  must 
have  been  born  in  us.  It  sways  the  lives  of  us  all, 
else  why  should  the  shibboleth  of  black  bass  be  more 
potent  than  the  seductive  charms  of  polite  society,  the 
beneficial  properties  of  the  "White's  waters,  or  even 
the  cuisine  delicacies  of  its  great  hotel  ?  But  so  it  is ; 
and  I,  for  one,  should  be  sorry  to  have  it  otherwise. 

Yet,  stay  a  moment.  I  have  been  too  hasty  in  con- 
ceding so  broad  a  sway  to  this  Anglo-Saxon  love  of 
sport.  I  should  have  excepted  that  anomalous  tribe 
of  men  for  whose  benefit  this  book  is  written  and  to 
whom  the  writer  will  now  preach  a  short,  ding-dong 
sermon.  It  is  quite  likely  they  will  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  ding-dong  and  pronounce  the  preacher  a  one- 
stringed  harper  and  a  crank  of  a  tautophone.  Per- 
haps he  is ;  yet  if  there  be  any  American  business 
men  whose  eardrums  are  not  split  by  the  jingling  of 
dollars,  they  may  now  hear  some  wholesome  strains 
from  his  single  string  and  ought  to  be  delighted  to 
find  so  much  benign  melody  in  the  crank  of  a  tauto- 
phone. Gentlemen-drudgers  of  humanity,  your  train 
of  thought,  freighted  with  funny  notions  of  felicity, 


A  PILGRIMAGE  OF  THE  "WHITE"  343 

is  on  the  wrong  track.  Switch  off — the  quicker  the 
better — and  back  out  from  the  dangerous  hallucination 
that  the  piling  of  money  is  the  top  and  bottom  of 
human  bliss.  Life  is  not  made  up  of  dollars  and 
cents,  nor  does  its  chief  enjoyment  lie  in  scraping 
them  together.  As  you  surely  know  it  can  be  lived 
but  once,  shouldn't  you  like  to  hang  on  to  your  scarce 
and  slippery  "  once  "  as  long  as  possible  ?  Of  course 
you  should  and  therefore  'twould  be  wise  to  drop  your 
drudgery  for  a  while  and  spend  a  little  of  your  time 
and  more  of  your  pile  in  the  pursuit  and  capture  of 
Health.  However,  don't  mistake  my  meaning.  I  am 
quite  aware  that  money  cannot  purchase  Health, 
though  it  may  buy  doctors  by  the  gross  and  physic  by 
the  cartload.  But  it  may  lure  the  hygienic  dame  in  a 
roundabout  way.  It  can  bribe  her  handmaid  Recre- 
ation, whose  services  will  wriggle  you  into  the  good 
graces  of  her  mistress,  and  quicker  than  all  the 
world's  doctors  or  the  swallowing  of  their  question- 
able physic.  Selah. 


The  Last  Shot 

— Have  you  with  heed  perused 
What  I  have  written  to  you  ? 

— COBIOLANUS. 

PLUTARCH  says :  "  Recreation  is  the  sweet  sauce  of 
labor,"  a  fact  of  which  the  American  business  man, 
who  usually  swallows  his  labor  with  no  sauce  at  all, 
should  make  a  note. 

"  What  so  strong 

But  wanting  rest,  will  also  want  the  might  ? 
The  Sun  that  measures  heaven  all  day  long, 
At  night  doth  bait  his  steeds  the  ocean  waves  among." 

The  labors  of  old  Sol,  to  be  sure,  are  a  little  out  of 
the  line  of  the  business  man,  but  not  so  much  out  of  it 
that  he  can  afford  to  disregard  the  example  or  declare 
that  rest  and  recreation  are  but  snares, 

Delusions  mere,  inventions  of  the  devil, 

to  bamboozle  the  thrifty  and  keep  up  the  world's 
stock  of  drones.  If  the  devil  did  invent  them  I  have 
a  much  higher  opinion  of  him  than  usually  obtains, 
and  the  proverb  is  right — the  old  fellow  is  "  not  as 
black  as  he's  painted." 

What  I  have  recited  in  the  foregoing  pages  com- 
prises but  a  few  of  the  many  pleasant  and  exciting  in- 

344 


THE  LAST  SHOT  345 

cidents  and  experiences  enjoyed  in  my  tussle  with  the 
wilds  of  Nature.  Though  the  time  was  comparatively 
short  the  trips  were  not.  By  land  and  water,  by  rail, 
steamboat,  wagon,  buck-board,  yacht,  row-boat  and 
birch-bark  canoe,  the  miles  covered  were  over  ten 
thousand.  No  trifling  distance ;  and  yet  through  it 
all  I  was  never  really  ill  but  once,  and  the  damage 
done  then  was  not  serious  enough  to  prevent  my  re- 
turning home, 

"Full  of  vigor,  tough  and  glad, 
Feeling  like  a  wiry  lad," 

and  with  a  capacity  for  work  that  was  well  worth  its 
cost  of  two  months'  time. 

And  now  a  parting  word  to  you,  you  man  of  busi- 
ness, chained  like  a  felon  in  his  cell,  bereft  of  sunlight, 
harassed  with  care,  tiring  your  brain  over  the  one 
mighty  problem  of  money-making — or  else  some  scheme 
to  stave  off  financial  disaster — 'twill  pay  you  to  pon- 
der on  my  words  and  my  experience  and  call  a  halt. 
Make  up  your  mind  that  money  without  health  is  a 
greater  calamity  than  health  without  money.  Leave 
your  desk  and  turn  your  back  on  the  steaming  streets 
of  civilization  and  your  thoughts  where  Nature  tempts 
with  her  trout  streams,  her  mirrored  lakes  and  her 
game-abounding  retreats  ;  to  her  forests,  fragrant  with 
balsamic  odors  and  watered  with  living  streams  made 
wholesome  with  the  leechings  of  the  spruce,  and  pine, 


346  SPORT   INDEED 

and  cedar — Nature's  own  nectar ;  a  draught  of  it  and 
you'll  need  no  other  stimulant.  Then  when  the  day's 
sport  is  over  and  the  night  comes,  what  a  revelation  is 
in  store  for  you !  Cuddled  in  your  warm  sleeping-bag, 
with  plenty  of  blankets,  you  "  lay  me  down  "  on  your 
bed  of  spruce  boughs,  whose  odors  play  thick  about 
you,  filling  the  air  and  soothing  you  quickly  into  babe- 
like  slumber.  In  the  morning,  spryer  than  the  sun, 
you  leave  your  bed  before  him,  armed  with  a  double- 
edged  appetite  so  keen  and  new  you  wonder  where  it 
came  from.  Trust  me  for  what  I  tell  you,  and  my 
words  but  faintly  speak  the  novel  joys  which  await, 
you.  Once  more  I  say,  forget  "  the  shop "  and  all 
which  that  implies,  and  with  the  Poet  Howe  you  may 
exclaim  to  some  purpose  : 

"  Begone  my  cares  !    I  give  you  to  the  winds. " 

T.  M. 


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